Hollowed

-2-

   Soviet looked at America dead in the eyes. 

   "He died in 1942, Amerika." 

   "Then why is he standing behind you?"

   Soviet whipped around. There was nothing there, just the coffee table with a house plant on it. He turned back around to face America.

  "There's...nothing there...Amerika, are you sure  he's behind me? I don't see anyone."  

   "He's right there, Soviet, I assure you."

   Soviet couldn't believe his ears. His comrade had no idea that his sergeant had died- he was hallucinating  him? Or was it the spirit that had followed him home- Soviet had heard these things from a show America watched frequently- "Ghost Adventures". He didn't believe in spirits, so he brushed it off as hallucinations. 

   "Soviet."

   "Yes, comrade?"

   "Wha- Huh? I didn't say anything."

   "Then who said my name?"

   "Not me." America turned to fish around in the table drawer beside him for a book while Soviet sat dumbfounded. How on Earth is this possible? His sergeant's been dead for 80 years! Even if he did survive WW2, he would've died of natural causes long ago! 

   "Amerika...how long has he been here?"

   "Since 2014."

   "Have you noticed any...strange activity around your house? Like objects being tossed or broken seemingly on their own?" Soviet was still cautious about the idea of a spirit roaming around America's house- he was known to have episodes. Episodes where he would be immersed in his past, amongst the mutilated bodies of soldiers on Normandy or the dense, humid jungle of Vietnam. Soviet didn't like America in these episodes- he was often yelling for a medic that never came. 

  He's watched so many men die on his accord...Perhaps he's hallucinating his sergeant because he comforts him? 

  "No. Nothing gets thrown or broken or anything. Why do you ask?" He tilted his head slightly.

   "Just wondering..." Soviet's brow furrowed. Damn. It might be a hallucination, then. Just another thing to add onto America's plate. 

  Soviet got up to fix the two of them some tea- it was cold outside, and hot, fresh tea was always a great way to warm up. He filled a pot with water and turned the stove on, and rooted through the drawers next to the stove for a teabag- America never organized the drawers. He finally found a teabag and a thermometer and shut the drawer. 

  Soviet wondered if the hallucinations had to deal with Britain's parenting- or lack thereof. 

   "Amerika?"

   "Yeah, Soviet?"

   "Was Britain ever a good parent to you?"

   Silence ensued. America didn't want to talk about Britain. Pretty typical, as the few times he'd visited America as a child he was always skittish and quiet. Soviet suspected the British bastard had something to do with this.

  He stuck the thermometer in the water, then placed the teabag in, fully submerging it. Thunder rumbled outside again, this time a bit closer. Soviet heard America muttering to himself- something about Korea. He turned around and realized that the book America was flipping through was full of pictures- photos of everyone he'd served with. He turned back around to check the tea- still had a few minutes left. 


  Soviet walked over to America, placing his folded arms on the back of the couch. America startled, then calmed down when he realized it was just Soviet. 


  "Anyways, this is when I served in Korea- see, there's the mess tent behind us and a chopper bringing in supplies. The guy next to me was a newbie- fresh out of boot camp. Smart kid, though. Had enough sense not to try and purposefully alert the enemy to see if they really were all that and a bag of chips." He sighed. "Some of the others weren't so lucky." 


  Soviet went back to the stove to check on the tea, and when he got there he stuck the thermometer back in and took the teabag out, throwing it in the trashcan. He took a mug and poured some tea in, and did the same with another mug. 

"Here's your tea, Amerika."

  "Thanks, Sov." He went back to talking to -god knows at this point- and he flipped to the last page in the book, the one with the most neatly kept photos. He stared at them and Soviet swore that he could see a tear stream down his comrade's cheek. Soviet glanced at the photos, sipping his tea. 


  The photos were of him and somebody he very faintly recognized. Soviet's eyes widened a bit when he realized something.




 He'd seen this guy walking around in the front yard at night.