Fireworks. Picnics. Barbeques. Flags. Parties. Alcohol. Fun. FREEDOM.

America grinned to himself as he repeated these thoughts over and over. Ah, the fourth of July. What a beautiful summer day. His thoughts wandered to the day's activities. There would be lots of parties and picnics to attend. Lots of food to eat. Tiny American flags that would be waved around and around to remember that day. But most importantly, the promise of freedom. Ah, yes, the glorious fourth of July.

Gah. The fourth of July. What a horrible day.

The weather was gloomy, much like the feelings of a certain English nation. The normally lonely heavy rain was now accompanied by powerful gusts, fog so thick, that it was hard to even see your knees, and relentlessly pounding hail. The weather was terrible on this festive day, and not just for any reason.

I bloody hate this day. Why can't he just forget about that day?! I just want left alone…

But that was not to be. The proud Englishman looked out at his nation and glowered, cursing the obnoxious American that had made him feel this way.

That feckin' wanker. Why the heck does he have to include me in this?!

The Brit finally reached home, sopping wet, from having just walked out of the heavy rain. He slammed the door behind him, locking it in a way that one would have thought that he was trying to run away from something. And he was.

The tradition continues.

But today was different from most days. Instead of going up to his room to change out of his soaked clothes, England simply went to the kitchen, and swung an arm up to lazily grasp a large bottle of his most prized rum. He padded down the long hallway, paying no attention to anything but the door at the end of the hall. He finally reached it, and yanked open the door.

He sipped lazily at his wine, surveying the view before him. Paris looked simply glorious (as usual), from the very top of the Eiffel Tower.

Ah, c'est magnifique! How gorgeous Paris looks from this view! Of course, it is because of me…

His gaze shifted over to where a group of girls sat, giggling and chatting among themselves.

Comment ces filles sont belles! How beautiful those girls are! Perhaps they would like to have a chat with me; who wouldn't? After all, I am the nation of-

A phone buzzed rather obnoxiously, rudely interrupting his thoughts. Looking down at his pockets, he realized it was his own. Curious, the Frenchman flipped open his phone, revealing a stark-white screen, blank except for the small words printed on the screen:

Reminder:

Today is the 4th of July.

Confused, he racked his brain for what he was supposed to remember. Why was the fourth of July so important? And suddenly, it came to him.

Merde.

He ran, his legs failing him as he pushed his way through the crowd, desperate to get to his car. Finally, he reached it, and shoved in the ignition key. He drove as fast as he could, ignoring the shocked pedestrians, and the drivers, who screamed profanity after him. He continued at this pace, until he reached a large, rather drab-looking house. He slammed the car door shut, and raced up to the front door, gripping the doorknob so hard, that his fingers turned white. Finding it was locked, France cursed, and kicked the door in.