Chapter 1 - The Tragic Hero

  The sun beams into the eyes of Britain, it feels like it is burning him alive. Even though the sun seemed dangerous he opens his eyes and regrets it and looks away. He coughs and soon regrets it as he feels a burning sensation in his throat. Oh no.

He sat up and covered his mouth. He tries not to lose himself but his dinner from yesterday left him. He leans over to the side and lets it go. He gave a weak cough.

"Ugh..." He sighs and Britain gets out of bed on the other side. He was already in his everyday clothes so he grabbed his bag that was on the floor, filled with his personal journal, an overly used map, and leftover money from being the British Empire. He'd have to go collect another payment soon. He plans on grabbing a few more beers while he's out. Meanwhile, he grabs his old bottle from yesterday and there isn't much left, he is surprised, but he downs it. The taste of it after throwing up wasn't pleasant. The bottle shatters when he lets it fall to the ground.

Britain walks out, and grabs some of the money to leave it on the counter. He had been staying in a hotel for so long that he wondered if once he got home, it would still feel like home. Of course, it will. Home is home.

He walked outside and it was still bright as usual Britain could feel himself sweating and burning like a vampire.

He takes a deep breath and continues on. The marketplace was very close to the hotel so the noise of people talking and yelling filled Britain's ears but it never went to his brain. His eyes looked down so he didn't have to meet someone's eyes.

A drink sounded nice, he wanted to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth. He realized that he felt thirsty. Water wasn't what he wanted but instead, he wanted a drink at the local pub. Drink so that his cracks can open and talk so that they can heal; Drink the poison and the antidote at the same time.

Britain ran into a lady, and in his dazed mind, he couldn't catch himself, so he fell onto the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" He heard a squeal from a woman but he just grabbed his bag and tried to put his papers back in. "Let me help-"

"Back off!" He warns and pauses so she'll realize who she ran into. Britain puts his papers back in his bag and his body sways as he stands up. "I don't need your help!"

The drunken man walks off.

He mumbles to himself. "Stupid humans... I don't need anyone's help. I don't need help finding him." He huffs. He turns and finds himself in an alleyway. He leans on the wall and slides onto the ground. "I used to be so simple..."

Where did the years go? 26 years ago Britain found a child—a beautiful baby boy. A promise was made that would never be broken. He was actually a late poof baby. The Americas had already been found and he had already colonized some areas. Late or not. He had finally been found.

It's been so long. 10 years now. He's been wandering all of Europe for ages. He had a trail. It seemed obvious that America had never run away before. He should have known. There was either a dead end or too much evidence. He knew how smart his son was. He was the one who raised him.

Britain had wasted years on a false trail. He couldn't mentally handle it. He drank himself away as he lost his hope. He woke up in Russian Empire's land and could have died in the cold if she hadn't found him.

Being under watch didn't affect his new addiction. He found something else to obsess over. The only thing he remembered in that long time was Russian Empire constantly supporting him.

He was still grateful to his fellow Empire. She found a trail that led to the new world. She had found concrete evidence that America could be in the new world.

After a talk, Britain was ready to try again. He couldn't give up on America. But he still gave up on himself.

It's been interesting the past couple of years in the new world. He knows France has something to do with America running away. He could have even taken him. That would be worse than running away. He should have known his enemy could taint his child's mind.

Not only has the trail been easier to follow, but he found his son's journal. It was hard to read because it was backward. One would have to use a mirror to read it. But not Britain. He wrote this way as well. He was fluent in mirror words.

He found this journal on an islet he was told by a prostitute that had... hung out with America... told him that he was often on it. He invited many girls there. It was an impressive hideout. It was on a tall islet that looked impossible to climb; there was a way to get in. It was by a small cave that Britain had barely fit through. Maybe it was so only curtain girls could get in. If so, clever way to tell women to lose weight. But, he was disappointed in America if that was so. Whether it was for girls or for security reasons, the Empire thought multiple times about losing weight after the experience.

The cave had opened up and there was a ladder that led up to the top of the islet. That's where you can find a tiny house America must have stayed in and when we went in he wished he taught America to be clean. He wouldn't listen either way. There was a mess but in that mess, he found a map and a journal. The same ones he has on him.

The journal has been a big help in finding where he went. He's never been so close. He may be years away but he is catching up. Which. Comes to a new thought.

Seeing him again. He'll be 26. His face will be sharp. His hair might be long and matted like his. His shoulders might be broadened. He will look like a man when he sees him. Would he look the same at all?

Britain covers his face. He felt his eyes sting. He couldn't think about how he'd changed over the years. He couldn't spend one day without drinking himself away. He snapped at everyone. He needed to fix himself. But fixing is hard.

The man got up and almost fell forward but he caught himself. He's had enough reflecting. It's time to find America.