Corrupted (DISCONTINUED)

Chapt. 2 - Overworking and a bit of Nostalgia

•Edited•
•Pre-Edited•

It was a tough day, piles upon piles of paperwork laid on my desk, taunting me. I buried my face in my hands and let out a sigh. My new boss doesn't care about me anymore does he? Make America great again, psh, boy, please. I wish Obama could be my boss again.

I stood up and walked out of my small office. My home wasn't big, but I do own one in the woods. It's a really big mansion, but I rarely visit it. It just feels so desolated when I'm far from civilization. Tony was sitting on the couch, eating something green and eyes glued to the screen of the TV.

'Must be watching the news...'

"Another robbery has been reported and there was a shooting in Texas. Is everything all right?" Tony's big red eyes fixed on me, staring into my soul.

"Stress, just a bit though." I half lied. Sure stress, but I didn't admit the full situation. "Stress... How were the countries treating you?" Okay, I'm getting a bit annoyed now. This isn't a job review or an interrogation. I let out an obviously annoyed sigh and stared at him. "How were they treating me? Like garbage."

I stomped out of the room, sat down on a chair in the kitchen, and stared at my phone screen (scrolling through Instagram). Yes, maybe my relationships with the countries have been a bit wobbly, but I really don't care, not like they do as well anyways. I stood back up towards the fridge. I pulled out a sandwhich and closed it again. I sat down and went back on my phone.

Memes, fashion, makeup trends, seriously, my people are insane. They should be doing something more life worthy than this. I placed down my phone and walked out of the kitchen. I passed Tony, up the stairs, take one right, and I'm back to my office. I opened the door and peered inside. My eyes laid on the stacks of paper, and my hopes of them being fake or just my imagination demolished. I groaned and went in, slamming the door behind me.

You know, I don't mean to show anger, but I'm really not in the mood. I sat on my very uncomfortable chair and stared at the stacks. I reached for a paper from one of them and got to work.

Complaints, requests, opinions, and attacks. Every single time. The subjects never change, it seems. The attacks are interesting though. Not because they're hurting people, but what happens. I mean, how many times a day do you read the latest article with the words 'Mental patients on the run;Keep a look out!'.

Exactly, you barely do. I read each letter of the problems people are facing and think of a possible solution. I quickly grab my laptop and type down my response.

I finished the paper, and printed it. I lay it off to the side, stapled to the complaint letter so it can be shoved into an envelope later. And mailed to who knows what state.

1 more down, possibly millions more to go.

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I plopped on the couch, absolutely exhausted. After 2 days with coffee by my side, I finished. I reached for my phone and checked the date. It was Tuesday, which means the world meeting was tomorrow.

I groaned and threw my phone on the carpet. It didn't break, but bounced a bit. I rubbed my red eyes and yawned. I should really rest, I'm not dealing with any of the countries' complaints tomorrow if I'm late again.

I walked towards my room upstairs and closed the door. Jesus, the room was a mess still. The papers were carelessly thrown in all directions. And on top of that, multiple glass cups were on the table, taking most of the space. They were all either empty or half empty.

I knew I couldn't sleep knowing its like this.

I sluggishly cleaned the mess, walking up and down the stairs and towards the kitchen to place the cups in the sink. Neatly organizing the papers and making sure they don't get mixed up.

Once everything was cleared, I noticed a small stack of notebooks and journals aside. I grabbed the first book on top and opened it. That's when I realized something.

This isn't a notebook, but a small book about flowers. I flipped through the pages, and a big wave of nostalgia hits me.

This is the same book Davie gave me before we needed to leave.

My heart gets a stab of grief and I clench my fists. I quickly closed the book and place it back where the other notebooks were. I stared at the book, making it seem like it was the source of the Plague, I wanted to know what the others were.

I lifted the book and placed it on the other end of my desk. I grabbed something that seems like a journal and observed it. It was decorated with horribly drawn stars and had the word 'Hero' on it.

I cringe slightly and memories flooded in my head. "Oh boy..." I whispered. Slowly opening the journal, I prepared myself. The front page had a drawing of what I think was me, and another man beside me. Probably England, the eyebrows gave it away. I chuckled and looked at the small passage.

My handwriting is horrible, and I mean horrible. I cringed again, and humiliation filled my body. Thank God nobody knows about this. England doesn't I bet myself. He never really snooped through my stuff before. Amen to that.

I flipped through the rest of the pages, and one caught my eye. It was a drawing of me, smiling and holding hands with stick figures. The figures were different colours of the rainbow. I read the passage above:

"I can't wait to be a country! Iggy told me being a country is hard, but he says that because he doesn't have the will power! While I was staring at the sky today, I saw a rainbow! It was very bright and pretty. Then I noticed something. The green and blue colours are next to each other! That's the colour of me and Iggy's eyes! Then I wondered if there are other people with eyes like one of the colours of the rainbow. Maybe one day I'll find those people and become their friends."

The passage ended, and all I can do was smile. Friends huh? One of many imaginations I must've had.

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Red - Prussia
Orange - Italy?
Yellow - Macau
Green - England
Blue - America
Purple - Canada