Being Human (COUNTRYHUMANS)

Unsafe

America had to get used to walking again.

It had been about two weeks since his change and the destruction of his country. The house around him seemed colder than ever, with winter approaching the province of Canada slowly but surely. Despite the heater, the cold still leaked in, especially downstairs, which was spared by heaters in favor of keeping them upstairs in his bedroom. He kept downstairs most of the time, however, watching TV to see the horror show unfold in front of him. The racial tensions at that point had gradually escalated into a civil war. The conditions had already been laid out for a long time, for years, maybe a few decades- but it had been a long time coming. It seemed that the bi-party system had finally polarized so much that they had had enough of each other, and took action. It was ugly. America was able to feel it much before it began to affect his personal life. Constant questions about the current political climate slowly turning to calls to actions from him, to anger that he was doing nothing, to sheer outrage, protests, riots, revolts... An actual assassination attempt at one point. It was unsuccessful, thank God, but it was what led him to hide out in Alberta in the first place- a small rent house paid for by his brother. He had been grateful, but soon enough America began to realize that he had always taken his position of power for granted. About a few months after arriving in Alberta, the states had begun to balkanize.

America felt almost wrong like this. Why did it feel wrong to finally be able to walk again, to eat normally and do things around the house and not just feel sick all the time? Him having never felt better when he woke up that day was a lie- he still felt like shit, he was recovering from the weakness in his body. He was better, but not the best.

The normally dark kitchen was dimly lit in the middle of the night as America opened the refrigerator, gaunt figure shaking at the cold that immediately began to spill out, but he persisted and bent down a little to reach inside of the cold box. Out of the refrigerator came a wrapped cheeseburger, not a typical American fast-food brand one, the American fast-food chains had broken down after the chaos in his own country. It was from Tim Horton's- apparently a popular fast-food chain around these parts. They primarily sold coffee, but America had little use for a beverage like that.

With some crinkling noises that broke the long silence of the dark house, America removed the food item from the wrapper, going to the microwave and placing it inside, using the wrapper as a plate and setting the timer to about a minute and letting it cook. America stared at the microwave for several seconds, hand still on the buttons, his gaze gradually turned to it. This wasn't a dream. His hands were still... tan, with human skin and human flesh. This was his reality. His daily life, to his surprise, didn't change now that this had happened. He still had the same needs as before- the basics, food, water, sleep, occasional hygiene- but each little mundane task he performed turned the least bit more uncomfortable for him. He didn't feel like he was in his own skin. He felt dissociated. It was as if he was ripped from his own body and put into a stranger's. He knew it was only a change of skin color... But he felt like without the flag, his identity was gone. The only thing he knew how to do in life was to be America- but when the country of America was gone... What was he left as?

The microwave beeped, bringing America out of his train of thought. He carefully took the burger out, cursing as he quickly tried to wrap it to save his fingers the pain, shifting it from hand to hand as he shuffled back to his seat on the couch, laying back against it and placing the sandwich on his stomach. The news was still speaking of his country's collapse- he suspected it would be like that for a long time. It almost felt surreal. He snuggled into the blanket that now just about permanently rested on the couch, wrapping it around himself, slowly lifting the remote and changing the channel from the news. He took a bite out of the sandwich, only being disappointed at how stale it tasted. He should have expected as much. Who would reheat fast food?