MeridianNightfall

March 5th, 1946 It was cold. At least it was to Amelia F. Jones, personification of the United States of America. But then again, ever since the end of the war, and ever since Ivan and his Soviet cronies had decided to rear their ugly heads in a rather dark direction, Amelia couldn't shake the chilling sensation that lingered within the very air that she breathed, and every step that she took. She knew that there was no going back. She couldn't poke her head into Europe's affairs and then pretend that she had absolutely nothing to do with it like she did after the first war. An isolationist policy would no longer be accepted by the other n

They were on the move again. In reality, they didn't have a choice. No matter how many tears shed, hearts broken, minds forever scarred, they had to keep moving forward. A feeling of dread hung heavy over the group of nations as they freshened up, packed their belongings, and started heading out. Though all of the injured were still sore, every movement causing them to wince in pain, they still understood that staying there wouldn't do them any good. Wipe away the tears, take a deep breath, and walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. No looking back. Because if they looked back, all they would see is the leftover remnants of the smoke still floating in th

"Papa! Papa!" Turning swiftly at the sound of the voice, Antonio's eyes fell on the small, waddling toddler as she raced across the small schoolyard toward him, her little legs working enthusiastically. A large grin spread across the Spaniard's face at the sight of his little angel in all of her perfected glory as he knelt down and spread his arms wide open. "Lalia, mi poco tomate," he called out in response, ignoring the mixture of both strange and endearing looks from other parents. After all, he was too invested in his baby girl to give them the time of day. With her dark curly hair bouncing around her plump cheeks, her large green eyes

Crying is for pansies and pussies. That's why I'm not doing it now. I've done enough crying over that fucking excuse for a personification. An oblivious, airheaded personification whose green eyes are clouded with lust for my younger sister. Sick son of a bitch. Plus, as you have just witnessed, he kicked me out. Kicked. Me. Out. For good this time. It's to the point where the water building up in my tear-ducts refused to spill over and travel down my cheeks. No, instead, my expression remained flat and cold as I gathered my crap and hauled my ass out of the house. …Oh, and knocked over a few vases and other valuables on my way ou

You know, it's funny… so fucking funny how shit works. I'm. A. Fucking. NATION. Or half of one. You know what? Screw specifics. You know what I mean. I never would've thought that I would be dabbling in the art of TEENAGE DRAMA. I mean, seriously. I feel sorry for all of those lovely inhabitants of Sicily and Rome… those members of the mafioso… those Southern Italians that hold themselves with a sense of intense pride and nationalism. Well, wake up call, fuckers. Your personification is a spazz who's acting like a slut just to nab the man that she is so desperate to have. I never knew that I would stoop so low as to

Dream within dream we travel Empires of faith unravel Sealed with our virtue's treasures ~~ 1765 Emily Felicity Kirkland ~~ What in God's holy name is Mr. Kirkland playing at? This is so unlike him! Emily's hands shook as her bright blue eyes scanned the already yellowed newspaper, her breath catching in her throat with each word that she read. It couldn't be… no! Absolutely not! This is absolutely atrocious! Surely, there must be some sort of mistake! Her dear Arthur Kirkland would never do this to her. But no. There it was in clear print, the words dark and menacing, causing the British colony's head to spin with a mixture of

She didn't understand this feeling. This strange, warm, supernatural feeling that swirled in strange patterns, starting at the bottom of her toes, and flowing up and up and up... all the way until it filled every single crevice of her brain. The notebook seemed to carry a strange weight with it as it sat in her bag; though it was lightest object in comparison to her other textbooks, she could sense its glaring presence… a presence that seemed to nag at her, to beg for her to look down and reach her hand into the depths of the bag. Mitsu's frown deepened as she blinked a few times, trying to rid her head of such ridiculous thoughts. It w

Boring. It was just so boring. How all of these people went about their daily lives; it was an endless cycle. And endless, repetitive, meaningless cycle. The human body demanded its predictable necessities… food, water, warmth. The human mind absorbed what it wanted to absorb, and rejected what it wanted to reject. These silly beings that claim to rule this planet only feel a narrow range of emotions; yes, these emotions had the potential to intertwine, to become nothing more than a complicated mess… but when broken down, these emotions were just chemical imbalances. And these chemical imbalances resulted in people doing foolish