It was 2012, and the recession officially slipped into a full-blown Depression. Fortunately, it happened to no one but America.
Initially, all eyes were on him. Satellite viewing had gotten better and better, and if Russia wasn’t spreading pictures of the knocked-down nation, everyone else seemed to be kicking him. Metaphorically, of course; even if America had fallen, the rest of the world still moved, and though they could spare time to poke fun in newspapers and television shows, they worked harder than ever to make sure they didn’t follow the Depression trend. It wasn’t easy, but they managed.
It was 2020, and that was America on the stand, looking unkept and far, far too small, voice over-used but tiny. When Poland squealed about finding a spider under his spot’s desk, and the Northern Italy brother pointed out that the water dispenser wasn’t working any more, England formally moved the UN meetings to his flourishing city of London. There weren’t too many complaints – in fact, the only one who did was drowned out by a simple murmur of approval.
That invisibility would last for a long time, until even Canada had an issue with picking his brother with cracked glasses and limp, dying hair out of the crowd. In actuality, America stopped showing up altogether by 2023, and no one noticed when Russia’s satellites stopped picking up footage of him by 2030. The world moved, sluggishly moved into a dreamy sort of half-peace. No one dealt in each other’s business much anymore – if Canada was asked, he could say there had been a fuss over someone called a Dalai Lama, but it hadn’t been his problem, and besides, China was sort of scary, lately. He’d concentrate on himself, and maybe France or England, was that so bad? — No, no, it wasn’t. The rest of the world thought precisely the same thing.
He went through a routine. It was a nice routine; mix up batter for pancakes, open the windows to let the fall breeze in, sit back on the couch and maybe watch the news (not that there really was any) for a bit. Canada liked his routine. There wasn’t much that would move Canada from his routine.
But then it was 2090, and for the first time in forty seven years, America was on his doorstep.
“Matt,” he said, hands wringing, and Canada blinked – when had Alfred gotten back to normal? Pale as a hermit, sure, but healthy looking, and yet none of them had heard a thing from him (or had they?)—“Matt. You have to move in.”
- They hadn’t heard a thing from him. “What?”
“Merge with me. Please, Matt.”
“What are you—is this… April Fool’s, Al?” He remembered that holiday, a bit. America had always been big on playing pranks. He wasn’t sad that holiday had disappeared with the other, really.
“No, it’s – September 3rd.” It was actually October 17th, but Canada didn’t comment on that. The desperation in his brother’s eyes (had he forgotten his glasses? He wasn’t wearing them) gave him a sinking, white-cold feeling, and his grip increased on the doorframe.
“… Is this a declaration of war?”
“No! No. No, Matt- Canada- listen. Your provinces will get full state rights—you’ll have representation- it won’t be like Mongolia--“
Like who? – Oh. Right. The one China’d killed, lined up for the bored world to watch, right next to Tibet and Nepal and Bhutan. Canada knew there had been a reason the Asian Nation scared him.
“- my people just really miss yours, and I- I think yours miss mine, too, at least, I like to think they do, because I miss you-“
He found out he was yelling when he tried to talk. “What are you talking about?! You’re the one who closed the border! You’re the one who forgot about me!” There was a pause, where American stared at him, pin-prick blue eyes wide, looking like a cornered animal despite his somewhat-kept appearance, and Canada realized, no, no, I’d done all those things. Because he’d forgotten that America could even export. Because he’d forgotten to visit for Christmas or the other’s Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July or anything, just like America had often forgotten centuries ago.
axis powers hetalia -> ⌈63.⌋ Compromise.
Initially, all eyes were on him. Satellite viewing had gotten better and better, and if Russia wasn’t spreading pictures of the knocked-down nation, everyone else seemed to be kicking him. Metaphorically, of course; even if America had fallen, the rest of the world still moved, and though they could spare time to poke fun in newspapers and television shows, they worked harder than ever to make sure they didn’t follow the Depression trend. It wasn’t easy, but they managed.
It was 2020, and that was America on the stand, looking unkept and far, far too small, voice over-used but tiny. When Poland squealed about finding a spider under his spot’s desk, and the Northern Italy brother pointed out that the water dispenser wasn’t working any more, England formally moved the UN meetings to his flourishing city of London. There weren’t too many complaints – in fact, the only one who did was drowned out by a simple murmur of approval.
That invisibility would last for a long time, until even Canada had an issue with picking his brother with cracked glasses and limp, dying hair out of the crowd. In actuality, America stopped showing up altogether by 2023, and no one noticed when Russia’s satellites stopped picking up footage of him by 2030. The world moved, sluggishly moved into a dreamy sort of half-peace. No one dealt in each other’s business much anymore – if Canada was asked, he could say there had been a fuss over someone called a Dalai Lama, but it hadn’t been his problem, and besides, China was sort of scary, lately. He’d concentrate on himself, and maybe France or England, was that so bad? — No, no, it wasn’t. The rest of the world thought precisely the same thing.
He went through a routine. It was a nice routine; mix up batter for pancakes, open the windows to let the fall breeze in, sit back on the couch and maybe watch the news (not that there really was any) for a bit. Canada liked his routine. There wasn’t much that would move Canada from his routine.
But then it was 2090, and for the first time in forty seven years, America was on his doorstep.
“Matt,” he said, hands wringing, and Canada blinked – when had Alfred gotten back to normal? Pale as a hermit, sure, but healthy looking, and yet none of them had heard a thing from him (or had they?)—“Matt. You have to move in.”
- They hadn’t heard a thing from him. “What?”
“Merge with me. Please, Matt.”
“What are you—is this… April Fool’s, Al?” He remembered that holiday, a bit. America had always been big on playing pranks. He wasn’t sad that holiday had disappeared with the other, really.
“No, it’s – September 3rd.” It was actually October 17th, but Canada didn’t comment on that. The desperation in his brother’s eyes (had he forgotten his glasses? He wasn’t wearing them) gave him a sinking, white-cold feeling, and his grip increased on the doorframe.
“… Is this a declaration of war?”
“No! No. No, Matt- Canada- listen. Your provinces will get full state rights—you’ll have representation- it won’t be like Mongolia--“
Like who? – Oh. Right. The one China’d killed, lined up for the bored world to watch, right next to Tibet and Nepal and Bhutan. Canada knew there had been a reason the Asian Nation scared him.
“- my people just really miss yours, and I- I think yours miss mine, too, at least, I like to think they do, because I miss you-“
He found out he was yelling when he tried to talk. “What are you talking about?! You’re the one who closed the border! You’re the one who forgot about me!” There was a pause, where American stared at him, pin-prick blue eyes wide, looking like a cornered animal despite his somewhat-kept appearance, and Canada realized, no, no, I’d done all those things. Because he’d forgotten that America could even export. Because he’d forgotten to visit for Christmas or the other’s Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July or anything, just like America had often forgotten centuries ago.
When had America’s memory gotten so good?