Darkness Contest Entry

     The pain in his head had never gone away, not thoroughly.  It had been something he had learned to live with.  That slight throbbing in the back of his head—he always felt it.  He knew it was there, but it had become such a normal part of daily life, he simply dismissed it.  And anyways, America had to prove his strength as an independent nation.  He didn't want to make England think he couldn't survive on his own.  Not after the Revolutionary War, not after the War of 1812, not after any wars to come.  He would show them, show the whole world that even for such a young nation, he was strong.

     But he woke up and that pain he had learned to deal with so well was in full force, flecking his vision with red as he toppled out of his bed, blindly stumbling across his room to the bathroom.  He gripped the edges of the counter with such force his knuckles turned white.  Sweat dripped off his nose as he jammed his glasses on and looked up at his reflection.  The figure looking back at him wasn't shaking, hyperventilating, nor grimacing from the pain.  It just stared back at America with cold eyes, his mouth slightly twitching into a smile.  It was him, America knew, but something was different.  It was more militant, more stoic, not as rambunctious or heroic.  It was America in the time of war.

     "What do you want?" The young nation said in a hoarse voice.  His vision shook and blurred.  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to refocus.  When he reopened them, his reflection was smirking, his shoulders shaking with unheard, cold laughter.

     "Keep it," his reflection whispered.  "I need it."  

     America slammed his fist on the counter and stuck his face right up against the mirror.

     "It's.  Wrong.  It's unconstitutional and inhumane!"

     "It's what's right," his reflection said, still smirking as it straightened its gloves.  "Look, Alfred, bud, I don't want this anymore than you do, but if I really have to," the reflection bent forward so its emotionless eyes bored into America's very soul, "…I will get hostile.  You've gotten so weak…"

     "My people are splitting up, fighting!" America shouted, sticking his finger in the reflection's face so it bent against the dirty glass of his mirror.  "And it's all because of you, isn't it?"

     "What can I say?  Our people are divided by that decision," the reflection said, leaning back to take in America as a whole.  "And I say, make the decision for them.  Keep it."

     "It's not right!" America screamed, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair as he tried to keep his knees from buckling.  He could feel the anguish, the hate, the pain that signified battle.  Immediately, he knew what was going on.  Fort Sumter, near Charleston, South Carolina.  It was under attack; being bombarded by Confederate soldiers.  His vision was blurring again, edged with darkness as his legs gave out.  His chin rested on the counter top as he stared up at his reflection, which was still standing in the stance of someone superior and laughing, a passionate, angry fire in its eyes.

     "Well, fine then," it said, glaring down at the nation, who was almost unconscious.  "Consider yourself at war then," it said before smashing the mirror with its fist.  Glass rained down on America, but all he could hear were explosions and screams, all he could see was fire and blood, and all he could feel was the pain of being torn apart.

     "No…" he mumbled, his eyes closing as he slipped into darkness