Shattered Heart

Chapter 1: The Bombing

-America's Point of View-

Hello. I am a woman named United States Caldwell Price. You can call me America. I was born on January 1, 1989, and I usually live in St. Louis, my favorite city of residence. The most interesting thing about me is that I'm the soul of the United States of America. Wait, did I say that out loud? Well, you look like someone I can trust with my special secret.

Today is May 1, 2019, and I am 30 years old. I've been born many times, and so have the other countries. The first day I was born was July 4, 1764. My partner, Québec Price, and I have been together ever since then. Price and I have known each other so long, I remember when the province's home country of Canada and I fought a war in 1812! As you have likely assumed, people who have known each other for 265 years form a tight bond. You'll rarely see Québec and I apart.

Since that aspect of my life isn't the most intriguing, I'd like to tell you the other part of my story so far. This part is all based on my sadnesses, my angers, my weaknesses. The things that make me act strong when you mention them, but make me break down in tears once you are gone. Let me start with the story of the late winter day back in 1993 that sent the very first crack through my heart. The date was Friday, February 26, 1993. I was four years old, just like Québec. I lived in Lower Manhattan, and I was in preschool. It was around 12:18 PM, recess time, and I was reading an Elmo book. Laughing in the innocent way only a toddler can, I finished the last page and went to put the book back in the bookshelf.

I never did.

The explosion was so loud, it almost broke my eardrums. Kids in my class screamed when the entire building shook. I wondered nervously if my beautiful country had been attacked. To check, I looked out the window. When I saw it, I ran out of that building like my ass was on fire. I was so fast, not even the teacher or his assistants could catch me. Québec saw me running and decided to follow me while speaking French at a mile per minute. His deep blue eyes were wide, and his black hair was standing on end everywhere. We dashed right past the many groups of police and pushed the tower's doors open. We immediately took the stairs down to the basement, leaping over them two at a time.

Québec and I were deep in the bowels of the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

We both smelled the aftermath of the bomb instantly as we squinted to see in the dim light. Smoke and ashes hung in the pungent air above us. It almost singed our nose hairs. Both Québec and I coughed and pinched our noses shut.

The scene that awaited us was horrific. Cement was cracked. Pieces of the ceiling had caved in. Building materials for the North Tower had detached themselves from the wall with tons of force and were now scattered all over the floor. The smoke was as black as night. Québec and I could barely see our feet in front of us as we went even further down into the terrible mess.

"N-no!" Tears rolled down my face as I struggled to control them. "My towers! My precious Twin Towers!"

"They've been bombed!" Québec added, sobbing as he spoke rapidly to himself in slurred French. I turned and bolted without another thought.

We tripped over each other running up the stairs. Québec was screaming like bloody murder. I honestly thought our fear would cause another bomb was going to go off and kill us both.

"Children!" A crying woman's frantic shout came when we reached the lobby.

My then-friend and I did not want to talk to anyone at that moment. All we wanted to do was escape the sight and smell of terrorism. We almost broke the doors because we crashed through them so forcefully. We ran past the Sphere, past the police cars, past the firetrucks, and past the ambulances.

There are just about 195 countries in the world. There are even more states, provinces and cities, and we all have souls. An apartment building was constructed here in Manhattan exclusively for us in the year 1832. All of us were shockingly already able to live by ourselves when we were born, so no adults lived with us. Some countries shared an apartment with others, some lived alone.

I shared a home with Québec, Germany, and Japan. It was one of the bigger apartments, which is why all four of us could live together.

Germany is a blond-haired, blue-eyed man. Back then, he was the kind of kid that an appreciative adult would call "cutie." Pinchable cheeks, innocent face. He was super nice, too. Japan is a very pretty woman. She has black hair, green eyes, and clothes with flowers on them. Her young self looked like a mini-me of her present self. She is extremely kind.

Both of our housemates were very shocked and confused when they saw us walk in. We were crying and covered in dust.

"Was ist passiert?" Germany asked.*

"我々は爆発を聞いた !" Japan exclaimed.**

"B-bombing at the Trade Center," Québec stuttered.

"North Tower," I added. "The one with the needle."

Germany shouted super loud at the same time Japan gasped and almost fainted. We all walked over to the couch and began watching the news.

The four of us fell asleep that night with millions of questions bouncing around in our brains. What would the future bring? Who had done this? Why did they do such an awful thing? How many innocent people were brutally killed? Would there be a war? Would whoever did it be arrested or even executed?

Worst of all, is this going to happen again?

* "What happened?" in German.

** "We heard an explosion!" in Japanese. Pronounced Wareware wa bakuhatsu o kiita!