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America liked to eat in the company of others. He found that he could bond with other nations over food better than he could bond in any other situation.
But he wanted to be alone today. Before the sun rose, America went to his kitchen and grabbed enough food to last a normal man one week. (But Americans don’t eat like normal people for most of the time, so this supply run would probably be good for one day.) Afterwards, he trudged upstairs and into his room. He closed the door, locked it, and collapsed on his bed. “I welcome death,” he mumbled into his pillow. He remained in that position for most of the day, getting up only to eat. Around five that evening, his cell phone began to vibrate in his pants pocket. America brought the phone to his face and saw the contact picture on the lock screen was of a brawny brunette. He sighed and accepted the call.
“G’day, mate!”
“Hello, Australia…”
“So, I’ve been waiting for that bloke you have for a boss to apologize to my much-cooler boss about that Twitter drama and what-not. I mean, he’s been sulking ever since he was on the phone with Trump! I think an apology would brighten his spirits, right?”
“I don’t know if that’ll happen…” America started to say.
“Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll stop giving you vegemite and Hugh Jackman. Think about that, mate.” With that, Australia hung up. America sighed and curled up in the fetal position. He remained like that for two more hours…
...then his phone rang again. This time, the contact photo on the lock screen was of a lovely amber-eyed woman. America felt his own eyes widen with surprise as he answered the call.
“Taiwan? Is that you? I haven’t seen you since…”
“Since 1979, I know,” the female nation snapped back. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have TRUMP be the first American President to talk to MY boss after all these years?! We wanted to speak to somebody cooler, like Obama! I can’t believe you think so poorly of me! I’m sending you a letter that describes the full extent of my rage, and enclosed in the envelope is another letter so that you may write back and apologize to me! Don’t call me again until then!”
“I was going to say that I hadn’t seen you since the April Fool’s incident...and you called me,” America said in a flat voice, but Taiwan had already hung up. America had never seen (or heard) her this angry before, and it frightened him...it gave him flashbacks to the time he spent with Belarus...
Around 9 PM, America’s phone buzzed. The lock screen had a “new text” notification next to a small photo of a dark, mysterious nation. America’s eyes widened. “I gave him my number the last time I met him, but I didn’t think…” His voice trailed off as he tapped the screen and opened the message.
Hey stupid jerk bastard, it’s me, Cuba. Thanks to Obama, I might finally get decent cell phone reception at my house. I was just wondering, after Trump leaves office, can I put an unflattering political cartoon of him in the Museum of the Revolution? I think he’d look great next to the three former bosses of yours I already have on the Wall of Cretins.
America didn’t answer. He sighed and stumbled around as he prepared to call it a day and go to sleep.
It was three in the morning when his cell phone rang. America had fallen asleep with the phone in his hand, so it didn’t take him too long to answer. That being said, he was still exhausted and half-awake. “Whosat?” America mumbled into the phone.
“AMERICA! AMERICA! THIS IS AWFUL!” Italy’s high voice penetrated America’s ears and made his head hurt. “It’s Pope Frankie, I call him Pope Frankie even though I’m not supposed to and I’m not supposed to be talking about this because he isn’t technically my boss but…”
“YOU STUPID JERKWAD, HE LIVES WITH BOTH OF US!” America groaned and forced himself to sit up. Italy wasn’t alone. He was with his obnoxious older brother, South Italy, also known as Romano. “Just get to the point!” Romano ordered.
“The point is that Pope Frankie is talking about this weird ban that your boss has against the immigrants and it makes him upset and when Pope Frankie is upset then NONE OF US CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT!”
“It’s three in the morning, you two…”
“Not for us it isn’t, stupid idiotic MORON!” Romano barked into America’s ear. “The important thing is that what the Pope says goes, and if he says that the stupid ban your STUPID boss has isn’t right, then you NEED to get rid of it!”
America hung up moments before his phone vibrated again. There was an email from Netherlands in his inbox. He opened it. The email was untitled and had no message...just a YouTube link. America pressed his finger against it and was directed to a video produced by Netherlands and his government:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-xxis7hDOE
The phone rang again. By this point, America was starting to get irritated. “”What is it now?” He snapped when he answered the phone. HIs grogginess had been replaced with crankiness.
“Well, hello to you, too.” That was Poland, and he didn’t sound carefree. (He did sound like he was nibbling on paluszki.) “Anyway *nom nom* a bunch of the women who live at my place *crunch crunch* saw what the women at your place are doing *chew chew* and they were walking around the streets *nom crunch* with signs against your lame boss, and I was wondering if you, like, wanted them to come live with you so that *smack smack* they could oppose Trump in a more effective way?”
“Someone else is calling me, hold on,” America answered around a mouthful of burger. (What? The sound of someone else eating made him hungry! And he always kept an emergency hamburger stored underneath his pillow.) Someone else was indeed trying to reach him...America put Poland on hold and answered the call from…
“Hello, America, how are you.” Norway. “Listen. My boss was at one of your airports the other day and he had to go through a lot of unnecessary security things because of the travel ban. I think he wants an apology. As you can probably tell, we’re both very upset from the waste of time,” Norway droned in his emotionless, monotonous voice.
But something in America snapped. He hung up the phone and turned it off. America never turned his phone off...until now. “You know what? I quit. I fucking quit,” he announced to the ceiling. He stood, turned on the lamp next to his bed, and proceeded to storm around his room. Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and his suitcase was packed. He slipped out of his house under the dark of the night and drove to the airport, destination in mind. By the time anyone realized where he was, it would be too late.
The next morning...
“Where my country gone?!” Trump demanded. He lay in his bed, hugging his legs to his chest, a tiny thumb in his gross mouth.
“Don’t worry, Donny, I’ll find my...I mean your...kingdom, I mean country,” Steve Bannon promised him. With that, Bannon retreated into his dark, villainous tower as lightning streaked across the sky and a wolf howled in the distance...