Corrupted (DISCONTINUED)

Chapt. 11 - Little Journal

{~2nd day in Sicily. The whole fiasco was yesterday evening~}

• • Edited• •

DO-DO-DO-DO DO-DO-DO-DO DO-DO-DO-DO DO-DO-DO-DO SOME LEGENDS ARE TOLD, SOME TURN TO DUST OR TO GOLD, BUT YOU WILL REMEMBER ME, REMEMBER ME FOR CE-

"Hello, this is Alfred F. Jones speaking. How may I help you?" I spoke calmly into the phone, waiting for a reply. "Yes, Alfred. Is it alright if you can spare a few minutes? There are a few things I want to discuss."

Ahh the president, just when I thought I could peacefully draw in my journal.

Just ignore him, it's that easy porkchop.

Shut up, you annoying thing.

Learn to call people by their names you little runt.

"You got that all America?" Mr. Trump asks. "I- Wait huh? Oh um, no not really sir. May you repeat that?" I nervously chuckle. You could  hear him sighing on the other end. "I said, America, I have a few tasks for you. I need you to patch up some of your relations with the countries. You've been on bad terms with Russia and Canada. We can't have Canada go on strike about his trading centers, and we don't want Russia, more specifically President Putin, to think wrong about us. Especially after we had our meeting a few months ago. Now, did you get all this?" Mr. Trump questions, clearly annoyed.

"Yes sir. Fix my relations with Canada and Russia and blah blah blah. When do you want me to do this?"

"As soon as possible. Since you're in Sicily and as well as the other countries, do it before this month ends."

"Okie doki sir." I press the end call button and threw my phone across the room. I grab a pillow closest to me and also threw it across the room. "Just my luck." I groaned.

I turn back to my journal and pick up my pencil. Mumbling things like 'Stupid president, stupid countries, stupid everything.' I continue drawing peacefully, smiling to myself. How I love to draw in this journal. Are journals even used for drawing? They're for writing, but can you draw in them? No, I think you're supposed to draw in sketchbooks. Maybe I should buy a sketchbook sometime. And don't you little mind stalkers judge, I know you guys can hear my thoughts. Ever since, you little mind stalkers have been reading my thoughts. I bet you could even be reading my mind right now. (E/N journals are not just used to write, you can also draw and stuff like that, I don't get why some people say that. It's like saying you can only use paint on a canvas and can't use markers. It's just stupid.) (Go rant somewhere else and not my book Emmy! - Kat)

Before I could continue my thoughts, a few knocks were coming from my room door. I decided to grab my bag and stuff my pencils and journal in. Hey, you never know when I need it.

I pulled the door open and saw the happy and bubbly Italian. Slightly disappointed, I opened the door wider. "Hi-a America! There is-a dining hall reserved down-a-stairs! Would you-a like to co-?" I slammed the door before I could even let him finish his question. There was a moment of silence, and I thought he already left.

Then there were loud cries and sobbing from the other side. "America!! Why are you so-a mad!? I-a wanted to make you feel-a better!!" Italy sobbed. This little wimp will cause attention, and that's the last thing I want right now. I threw the door open, slightly removing it from it's hinges. I clamped my hand on Italy's mouth as quickly as possible, just so I can prevent him from crying or sobbing more. The only thing you could hear was his whimpering and sniffling.

"Alright, but I swear, I don't want to start my afternoon with your pesty and annoying sobs and tears. That's disgusting Italy." I sneered. He nods his head frantically in fear and I shove him away. "Wipe your face, I don't want to be blamed for your cause." I watch him run to the males bathroom, and he slams the door closed. Satisfied, I walk towards the dining hall.