Scarlet Walls | UkUs

Scarlet Walls - 4

Choose Your Poison

February 4th, 1915

___________

   America silently stared at a completely brand-new bottle of whiskey sitting only inches away from his sitting figure, his fingers tapping nervously on the wooden table. He felt thirsty with an itchy sensation in the back of his throat, dry and desperate for moisture. Not even the nearby water tempted him as much as the savory burn of the alcohol that once ran down his throat like acidic poison. He wouldn't have to think of the consequences like people did, even if it made him slightly tipsy from the drinking.

   "Promise."

   His mind replayed the words a few more times, but none seemed to register through his actions as he grasped the rounded object and forced open the cap. He drank, and drank until the warm liquid could only offer one final sip. A feeling of comfort spread throughout his stomach, and he sighed as he placed the now empty bottle back on the table, guilt shaming his actions.

   Truth is, his hunger for alcohol began after the burning of his capital in 1812, which caused extreme wounds on his back that are now permanently damaged tissue. From there, with the introduction of the Civil War, he would always resort to the welcoming embrace of alcohol as it calmed the fact that he was now fighting himself with even more developing scars to fit his pain. Of course, the drinking was occasional at first, but as time went by and his cravings grew worse, it became a hobby he couldn't resist.

   The height of his alcoholism was marked when he was forced into isolation by his government, causing his social interactions to quickly diminish. Before he knew it, the feeling of solitary confinement took over his thoughts and spiraled his need for a way to cope. That is, until he finally got to speak to someone who he honestly never expected to reach out to him, especially after everything in the past.

   Under permission of his boss, though kept a secret from America, the British nation was granted a rare opportunity to visit for the sole purpose of establishing some kind of neutral relations. It was a generally relaxing trip, but the European nation eventually found it quite strange that in the presence of diplomatic discussion, America wasn't even present for any of it. So, out of curiosity and perhaps a small desire to see how much the younger nation had grown, England searched the capital for the American country.

   With some pointers from citizens, he finally discovered the former colony rested inside a café with a melancholic aura surrounding his figure. At first, the American didn't even register that a foreign nation was in his presence, let alone the nation that once raised him. In spite of whatever resistance plagued the two nation's minds, it wasn't long until they embraced in a hug that neither of them knew they needed until then.

   That whole day was spent catching up together, and nothing seemed to separate them for the remaining time that England had in the country. For the first time in what seemed like forever, America's addiction to alcohol was suppressed after rekindling a long lost friendship. Sure, he'd drink on special occasions, but his communication with the British nation seemed to do something for him that the isolation act only damaged.

   Now, he was back to square one - an isolated and depressed alcoholic.

   America swiftly moved from his chair to the small clutter of full beer bottles on his kitchen counter, grabbing another to repeat the same toxic process. As far as he was concerned, the limitations of mortality didn't apply to him and so long as the alcohol quenches his emotions, it was all good. No matter what shame he reserved for his actions, he couldn't find it in himself to stop gulping down the liquid and honor the promise.