THE BALMORAL AU[COUNTRYHUMANS]

Chapter one. Flashbacks.

In the beginning things were nice. They were fun, everything was great.

America and Canada were riding their skateboards through the town, it was a warm and sunny June day, actually maybe too warm.

" Haha! Canada this is great! Just the two of us hanging out like old times! So glad my guardian dropped me off here! " Ame spoke aloud as he kicked his foot to make the board go faster. Canada laughed as america said this " yeah you're right! This is great. I do wish we could hang out like this more ey? "
" we're living out best years canada we gotta get some ladies yeah? Hahaha! " America laughed as he lit up a joint as he calmly rode his board. This was the beginning of his struggles. He just didn't know it yet.
As the rode off slowly fading out as the rode away laughing together and having the best times then suddenly..........

It was now around 15-20 years ahead. America was ok the floor of a dirty flat apartment. There was glass on the floor. Needles. Lots .. and lots of needles, used too. Speaking of needles, America held one in one hand as he....... tightened something on his arm. Shortly placing the needle close to his striped skin. . . . . . And then he did it he stabbed it into his veins injecting the poison slowly. The drug. The needle god.  Why did it feel so good. Why did it feel so horrible at the same time?..

An hour later he was in the bathroom, his eyelids were low, blood Shot eyes as well, enlarged pupils. He scratched his skin, his face. Staring at himself in the mirror he looked like shit. Needle scars covered his skin and arms. Even his thighs. He could see it all as he looked down, he wore a dirty black tank top, his once fresh and clean glasses now had one lens broken. Ame also wore old shaggy shorts. It was around end of May starting to be june.

Once more he scratched his skin. It was so bad. He pushed glasses up as far as they'd go, so they'd at least somewhat shade his eyes. The world to him was wavy, not even that words couldn't describe what he was thinking if he was thinking anything at all. He often picked his skin thanks to the poison in his veins, it often makes him do reckless things.

America has also recently lost his job too thanks to his addiction. As he stared at himself in the mirror he got the sudden urge to... hurl. He rushed to the toilet and... puked. Everything, he puked his brain out.

About two hours later now? No... what time was it?? Who cares.. he thought to himself as he picked up another usage item. A pipe. God. Why was he doing this to himself??? Where does the time go. As he went to use it he dropped it " FUCK! " He screamed as he lost whatever wad in the pipe. His shaky hands searched the glass coveted floor and it was like he didn't notice the deep red coming out of his hands shortly after. Could America feel anything at all at that point... " shit.- " he finally noticed and made his way upward. Not without falling first. God he was a wreck.

He wasn't even looking for bandages. America, oh America was looking for more drugs. More to hit down on. More to take. But. He had none. None at all. " of course not! Never do! " ...

' you always use it all. All on yourself all on you body America! Of course you have none.' He thought to himself as he scrounged up whatever money he had and as he grabbed his ragged jacket and headed for the door. Grabbing the doorknob he exited.