(Inspired by this song.)
“You little wretch.”
The words left her mouth with a snarl and venom and a spatter of blood.
I’ll cut your little heart out ’cause you made me cry.
Canada called up Mexico one evening.
“Hey, you haven’t seen America, have you? He’s not picking up his phone and he’s ignoring all my messages.”
“You didn’t hear? Said he hacked into North Korea’s Google Calendar and found a secret meeting with Russia and China. Said he was mad. Said he was gonna have his own secret meeting with Japan and the nicer Korea.”
“How is it a secret if you know about it?”
“He likes irony, I guess.”
She shook her head. “Whatever. I hope they have fun with that. Probably will be up all night talking about nuclear weapons. Maybe something good will come of it.”
“You’re being too optimistic.”
America slid in from the foyer–literally, as his socks allowed him to glide across the tile. He poked his head into the living room where Japan and South Korea were sitting apart from each other and generally avoiding eye contact.
They didn’t notice him until he exclaimed, “Who’s ready for McDonald’s 24-hour breakfast?!”
On July 28th, 2016, the Internet was whipped into a massive shitstorm as news articles everywhere claimed that North Korea had declared war on the United States. Kind of.
America stood at the podium as blinding lights flashed all around him. He could make out several of the audience members through the spots: Times, Huffington Post, CNN, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal in the back there with a cigar. Wait.
“Here’s the thing,” America started. “You can’t have ‘North Korea’ and ‘declares war’ right next to each other in the same headline, okay? People will see that as ‘North Korea declares war.’ Now I’ve got people freaking out, Twitter is going nuts, and I bet the guy is over there just patting himself on the back for spooking everyone like this.”
Times threw a hand up. “America, isn’t this really a problem with the people? They see a headline, misread it, and don’t even both to look at the actual article. If misinformation is being spread, whose fault is it really?”
America sighed. “Look, Times, I get it. You’re a respectable paper. You take pride in your journalistic quality. That’s fine. But the problem is that less respectable news sites–blogs, Twitter, Facebook– they’ll latch onto these misunderstandings and generate a lot of panic and fear. So we’re back at the original problem, right? How about everyone maybe not write headlines that instantly make people think North Korea is going to nuke us and his sister. Problem solved.”
Times sat down without a fight, but scribbled something in her notepad. It gave America a bad feeling.
“This just in!” The Onion said loudly from the back. “Obama Says Tricking Country Into Nuking North Korea All Part of Plan. Shit–wait, wait. I can do better. Give me a second.”
America smacked his teeth and slumped against the podium. “Okay, which one of you let him in here?”
Notes: Never thought I’d personify newspapers but here I am.
Thank you rain, for reminding me that life will never be easy.
Thank you mortality, for showing me that I can survive the things that scare me the most.
Thank you war, for teaching me the power of consequence.
Thank you failure, for making me stronger.
Thank you resentment, for filling me with fire.
Thank you tears, for reminding me that I’m still alive.
Thank you fear, for making me bold.
Thank you frailty, for humbling me.
Thank you disillusionment, for forcing me to challenge my beliefs.
Thank you conviction, for making the pain worth it.
Thank you imperfections, for never letting me be complacent.
Thank you insecurity, for helping me figure out who I am.
Thank you enemies, for giving me a reason to live my life to the fullest.
Thank you friend, for
Ink bled against white as North Korea stopped writing. He looked over his scribbles before scowling.
“Stupid China and his stupid ‘self-help’ tricks.”
He tore the page from his journal, balled the paper up, and threw it in the trash.
Based on this song.
“Why don’t you hate him?”
Someone had to ask.
(They had every reason to, knowing what he did to her.)
Japan had asked herself the same thing.
Over and over again until self-doubt wormed through her brain like an infestation.
A voice would say: Because you know you deserved it.
She’d shut it up and lock it away, that useless voice.
Was it… her conscience?
No, no. She killed that long ago.
Are you a writer? A history lover? A curious soul? If so, this is for you. Write the World is a monthly event where I give you a prompt and you write about it in a way that relates to history.
A while back I tried to start a blogging event that wasn’t very successful. Well, here’s a reboot.
Are you a writer? A history lover? A curious soul? If so, this is for you. Write the World is a monthly event where I give you a prompt and you write about it in a way that relates to history. This can take the form of flash fiction, poetry, essays, articles, or anything else you feel inspired to do.
For example, let’s say the first prompt was “18th century.” You could do a creative writing piece about a spy in the American War for Independence. Someone else might write a poem about the destruction Mt. Fuji reeked on Edo. Another blogger might explain the Russo-Swedish War in an article.
The event will officially start next month. Please spread the word so this can reach as many people as possible. More participants = more fun.
Nights like this were becoming more common.
Nights when his ugliness tore out of its cage.
Nights when he stopped pretending that he cared and admitted to his exploitative, controlling, and domineering nature.
Nights when he tried to remember—and then struggled to forget—the friend he once was.
Nights when they felt trapped.