It Still Hurts 9/11 One-Shot

It Still Hurts
AN: I wrote this to commemorate the anniversary of 9/11. It hasn’t directly affected me, but my heart goes out to those who it has. This fan fiction is, of course, based on actual events but shown through a fictional being. I understand some of you think this is too early to be writing anything about it, but otherwise I probably wouldn’t give much thought to the occasion at all truthfully. Please enjoy and review. If your review is going to be anything akin to a flame or a hateful comment about my writing about this, please at least have the balls to not review as a guest. I won’t hate on you, I will either ignore you or hold a polite dignified conversation with you about it.
September 11, 2001. A day that will never be forgotten.

Alfred F. Jones stared at the clock.

8:45 A.M.

The day had come again. September eleventh. That day would never be the same after that incident to Alfred. After all, he was the country that had been attacked. Hot tears stung at the blond’s eyes. Every year…

*****
America had slept through his alarm that morning. He had just gotten on his shirt when it hit.

8:46 A.M.

Excruciating pain suddenly slammed the blue eyed American. He gave a cry and clutched his side, falling to his knees. His body jerked in a serious of violent coughs. By the time they weakened enough to be able to keep his eyes open, he spotted red though his hazy sight.

Dear God, no.

The citizens! Alfred managed to think while he moaned on the floor. All of the citizens…they were…going to die.

What kind of hero was he? He couldn’t protect the hundreds that were in danger right now.

Seventeen minutes later, another sharp burst of pain rocketed through him. Tears streamed down America’s face. He erupted into more coughing and his vision blurred violently.

No. No. No. No No. Not again. Dear God, why?

He was helpless. He should have been the one to prevent this from ever, ever happening. Pain and tears nearly blocked out Alfred’s vision. He managed to see a blond head rush into his room before he blacked out.

“A-Alfred!” The voice yelled. “You’re going to be okay! A-Alfred!”

Well of course he was going to be okay, Alfred thought darkly, but the citizens won’t be.
*****
After Canada had arrived, France and England showed up as soon as they could. They all did their best to help America, but the emotional and physical damages were already done. To this day, he carried deep scars across his torso for all of the planes that hit their target.

Every year, he still received calls from the three and support from others, but it was never going to help. It wouldn’t change anything.

It would never change the terrible incident that changed America forever.

It still hurt.