To those that know him well, America looked beyond the definition of "bad." To say he was not himself was a severe understatement. It was indescribable, these events that have been going on. The rest of the world watched with pity as the nation of freedom seemed to be crumbling in on himself, shattering beneath the weight of all that is unsettling, all that is hatred, all that is unrepresentative of who he is meant to be.

England once joked about letting America return to the United Kingdom if all goes wrong. A light jest that, for a mere fleeting moment, the younger nation considered.

Today, he sits in solitude. In a few hours, he will have to congratulate his new boss for winning the presidency. As he sits on his bed, feeling both heavy and light, as if somehow he is floating and yet the weight on his shoulders prevents him from reaching higher, his people are voting. His people are voting for whom they deem fit.

His people are voting for who won't ruin the country that badly.

His people are voting for the lesser of two evils.

(This is not how things are supposed to work.)

America feels as though he is stuck in some awkward, suffocating nightmare that has been going on for way too long and has no foreseeable end. And it bothers, it bothers him so much because he feels out of control and judged and lost and divided. And whatever happens will have an impact for years to come and America will have to deal with it and he isn't quite sure if he can mentally deal with this.

The phone rings. It's his current boss. A weird feeling burns a hole within his chest. He doesn't want to part ways with him - he still has a bit of time left before the new president's inauguration in January - but still. They exchange the standard greetings, and America's lack of usual enthusiasm and cheerfulness just emphasizes the tension within the air.

The president is the one to break the choking silence that had settled upon them. He is the one to initiate this dreaded topic, to reassure that a historic moment will be made with our first female president and that Americans will make the right choice (though right and wrong is such a blurred topic these days and the choices that are presented is too closely split between one that is mildly looked down upon and one that will ruin everything). America halfheartedly agrees, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. He doesn't want to hear this anymore - just get it over with and let it all end.

His current boss asks him he feels about this, feels about today, feels about what has been going on for what seems like years (like an eternity).

America doesn't even take the time to contemplate the question. He's tired of thinking, tired of watching, tired of listening. He answers softly, and his boss simply exhales.

"Fear. I feel fear."

it saddens me how i'm too young to vote in the country. the first election in which i have paid legitimate attention to and i'm too busy being 17 years old. oh well, at least i can help make a difference in the next election.

i guess it's okay to say that i would've voted for hillary if i was of age [braces self for possible hate comments in reviews].

today's the day peeps. hope you voted wisely.

edit (nov. 9th, 2016, 4:53 a.m.): what the fuck america. what the fuck.

i can't even - how does one choose someone so horrid - what the fuck.