Operation Red Herring (Countryhumans Alternate History)

Chapter 32

It was night.

The moon glowed, its soft cool rays streaming through the window, illuminating the room. America felt the cruel deja vu, vaguely remembering the days she had spent drifting in and out of slumber back in December, right after she had made the decision that got her into this horrible mess. She was so angry, to the point where she felt she would combust into flames, burning her flesh and bones until she was nothing but ash.

She stared up at the moonbeams, watching the dust particles as they danced in the air, a peaceful existence. America thought about her desire to be nothing, floating through the universe as nothing but an insignificant speck. She craved it more than ever now- both out of a want for her suffering to end, and the roots of self-hatred that had ingrained themselves into her heart, coiling around her soul and suffocating her very being.

She glared, swatting at the air, the particles flying in every which direction, forever thrown off course and changed by her action. How come they could have what she wanted? She had survived abuse, war, betrayal, and so much more, while they simply existed. They had done nothing to earn it. Then again, perhaps what she had done to earn said existence was forever null and void, due to what she had allowed to occur. What she was still allowing to occur.

America could almost feel it, could almost sense each time a life was taken while she stayed in her room. It was infuriating, but she knew she had to be smart. Her first instinct was always to react- Hell, that was what had gotten her into this mess. If she went out and tried to stop this when she had first found out about it, she wouldn't have been able to control herself, her anger and hurt effectively driving her insane. Even now, she could practically feel her blood boiling. She clutched her sheets in her fists, ignoring the way her hands shook as she tried to contain her anger. Murder wasn't the answer, but if she ran into Third Reich (or any of them, to be honest) she knew she would kill him. That would only make things worse.

So she stayed in her room, seething and waiting for her emotions to eventually calm down. For her mind to eventually clear, so that she could fix things. No one had really tried to get her to come out of her room, a fact that would have hurt if it weren't for how furious she was. Instead, she bid her time, sneaking out every night for food. Her skills in sneaking around at night proved to come in handy, as she was able to silently slip through the house undetected.

America glanced at the clock in her room, the hands reading a quarter to midnight. She sat up, looking at the door. It was most likely safe to make her nightly trek. She grabbed her gun off of her nightstand, not daring to venture out without it. She knew know what Reich and Japan were capable of. She got up, walking past her desk, papers scattered and Bible thrown half-hazardly on top. She stopped, staring at the old brown book for a moment. After her confrontation with Japan, and subsequent hours of mourning and sorrow, she had opened it, skimming the sacred pages for some sort of answer. America and religion were... complicated. But, she had been raised in it, and couldn't help but fall back to some sort of familiarity in this time of utter confusion and despair. She had looked through the book, psalms and parables offering little comfort. A God who had cursed her with her existence of being a country- living for centuries longer than any living being should. A God who keeps letting things like this happen. Then again, she had long ago realized that she was destined to be damned to Hell. Perhaps God had simply given up on her.

She didn't blame Him.

She shook her head, opening her bedroom door and peaking out into the hall. She looked both ways, making sure no one was there before silently slipping out of her room. America silently walked down the dark hallway, somber steps carrying her through her usual route. It reminded her of during her revolution, when Washington's army was stationed in Valley Forge. The British had been mere miles away, and she was extremely aware of the sorry state of her military. Of herself. So, everynight, she would bear the frigid cold, patrolling the same route around the encampment every night. The moon illuminated her skin then the same way it did now, making her look like a ghost. Hauntingly beautiful in her sorrow, and thoroughly trapped in her situation.