Pessimistic Coodies (RusAme)

Backwards Bill

America glances back over to me with a menacing grin plastered onto his face. He laughs and its echo haunts my ears. "I don't think I'm insane; surely my entire situation is understandable. If it weren't, I would've been put into that asylum when I was younger."

I stare into his doe mismatched colored eyes. What the hell did I get myself into? "America, you are insane." I repeat. I was truly at a loss for words and had conflicting emotions. Crossing the street blindfolded was the last thing I had expected him to try. And yet, I was even more disturbed at how much I wanted to try it for myself...

"And so are you, Russia." he says chillingly as if he had a key to my gated mind. "We are not so different and you know it. You are not normal; you revealed that to me in your past. Our horrible childhoods molded us into what we are today. "

"I'm not fucking crazy." I tell him, "I find hobbies to feel alive- not to try to kill myself!"

"Yeah?" he questions, "Do you know what I find crazy? The fact you stopped driving. We have been sitting in the middle of the road for the past few minutes. I was hoping for a car to rear-end us... but I figure that you deserve for that to be brought to your attention."

I stare at the wheel in distress and then back at him. I know for a fact that he was not trying to convince me that I was crazy- the fucking nerve. I continue to drive again. "Everyone knows that no one drives on this road past 10 p.m. anyway!" I say.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes." I say confidently.

"Then drive backwards." he says with his menacing grin returning. I stare at him bewildered. "B-Backwards?"

I see him lose patience. He reaches over and switches my gears to reverse. I start driving backwards. He laughs wickedly. I slam onto the breaks and push him back into his seat. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He only continues to laugh.

"Oh c'mon!" he states between his laughs. "We were really doing it! I bet you never did that before!"

"Of course I haven't!" I say enraged. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Maybe." His word drips with amusement.

"America, I don't think I can do this. It all seems wrong. I'm backing out of our deal." I tell him. His idea sounded interesting at first, but seeing its potential nearly scared me to death.

He speaks with a worried tone. "Russia please, I ca-" I cut him off. "I'd feel more comfortable if you rode in the backseat."

"Fine..." he begins. "I respect your wishes of wanting to continue on with your life... you know, the life that's dulling and will forever feel empty. And here I offered you an opportunity to rid these horrible feelings; I even offered you friendship, and an escape from being numb. Might I ask what the hell you are living for? Why are you fighting to live when you have nothing? Are you happy?"

His words broke me. It was all true. Nothing gave me purpose anymore. My distracting hobbies were dying out and were failing to entertain me. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I looked over to him in defeat without saying a word.

"Please Russia, give me a chance. I can help you. We are the same; I've longed to meet someone like you. Let me give you something to make you want to wake up every morning from your bed."

I hesitate. My throat feels like it is burning me. It tells me that agreeing to this is a bad idea. As foreboding as it was, I felt that I did not have much of a choice. I wanted to feel again, like that time when I was close to dying on the ice. To feel that constantly made my stomach stir. Was it nervousness? Anxiousness? I feel my head nodding.