Y U SO HOT.
- me: im happy
- *thinks about life for 2.7 seconds*
- me: im sad
Z: Awful,i’ve been bullied
T: Join the club, Zachary.
T: It’s not awful. If you’re smart enough, and powerful enough,
T: it’s a good thing.
T: Like how it was to me.
Z: They’re always hit me
T: You should go to a teacher,
T: and stay close to him / her.
Z: and they call me “nerd”
T: Don’t care.
Z: My teacher said that they’re good,
Stranger: So what?
Stranger: She / he’s wrong.
Z: I’m depressed with my school-life.
Z: Everything seems so pointless. Sometimes I just sit there & cry wondering why I even bother trying.
Z: Excuse me?
T: Believe me.
T: I’ve been like that very much in the past.
T: It’s only how you’re feeling right now.
T: What you feel isn’t what there is.
T:What you think that there is isn’t what there is.
T: Just try to understand that these are only opinions,
T: and they’re not true anyway,
T: so what would you bother?
T: They hit you?
: Run away.
Z: I hope everything’s gonna be alright,now.
T: It hurts? You have nothing to do but to suffer the pain and understand that this is what there is currently, and you could either suffer from it,
T: or suffer IT.
T: It’s going to be alright.
T: Don’t worry. You don’t know how badly I was depressed.
T: It’s getting better,
T: but it takes lots of time,
T: and other things might make you feel pain again.
T: But it’s not going to be as painful,
T: and you’re going to forget the pain.
Z: You’re so wise,zachary.
T: I’ve just had the pain,
T: and learned,
T: so it won’t repeat again.
Z: yeah,i hope so
Stay strong,Zachary :)
And if i stumble.
The sunflowers on the wall are cracking and faded and it’s getting harder and harder for Ivan to pretend they’re real. But still, he lies spread-eagled on the floor, head and heart and mind fogged by vodka and memories and loneliness, so lonely, he stretches his hand out towards them.
There’s a voice in his head that laughs at him; another that’s crying, begging for warmth.
It’s cold in his house, so cold, always cold.
There are other voices too, whispers, memories but he’s drowned them out with too much vodka (they’re still there though, he can feel them tugging at him, crying for food and warmth and shelter and help and help) He groans, presses the heel of his hand to his eyes- he just wants them to stop, just for a bit, just for a little bit- curls in to himself (he just can’t get warm)
(If he closes his eyes he can imagine the house is still full, maybe Lithuania will come to find him, drag him in to bed, flinch if Ivan raises a hand he doesn’t mean to hurt them, he doesn’t)
They won’t, he knows they won’t, but he can dream, he can wish, he can beg.
The General is pacing outside, rattling the windows, howling through the rafters and Ivan clamps his hands over his ears with a whine, “Go away, go away, go away.”
He owes the General, as much as he fears him, he owes the General so much.
(There’s a riot in Moscow, leaves fifty dead, the blood oozes through his coat, drips down his side like red paint on a moonlight canvas, he feels them all as they die)
He can feel their terror in his mind, he can hear their fury (how could you let this happen?) it’s all going wrong, again. He tries, oh gods, he tries, he’s tried so hard this time and it’s still all gone wrong.
“It’s not my fault,” he mumbles, “Not my fault…”
(The crops have failed, the General’s been particularly cruel this year, they’re starving, freezing, democracy was supposed to change things)
“Sorry, sorry,” he moans.
There’s something he’s supposed to be doing today but he can’t remember what, can’t think straight anyway.
(He’s weak, so weak, he’s supposed to be strong, supposed to be formidable- he’s not anymore, barely able to breathe on his bedroom floor, shaking and bleeding and crying)
Ivan wonders if he’s dying.
If someone invaded now, if someone decided to start a war he’d fall, he’d fall so far and so fast and god, not again.
There’s a knock at the door and Ivan curls further in to himself, “Go away, please.” He wonders blearily who it could be but then there’s a booming voice.
“Hey! Russia, dude! You’re like, two hours late for the meeting big guy!”
“Russia! I know you’re in there!” he calls, pounding on the door again.
Ivan sighs, shakes his head, tries to think clearly. If he doesn’t answer America will probably break the door down and find him like this and god knows what would happen then. He stands up, swaying slightly and stumbles down to the front door.
(Slips his smile in place like if he pretends long enough maybe it’ll come true-maybe he’ll be happy)
When he finally opens the door America looks an inch away from breaking it down. “Finally,” he says, “Thought you’d left me out here to freeze!”
“Amerika,” Ivan greets (smiles, smiles) “What is it, comrade?”
America narrows his eyes, “You’re like two hours late, dude. Germany almost had a frigging aneurism and we’ve been waiting around all day for you.”
“Ah, apologies, my friend. I lost track of time.” (Drums his fingers on his pipe)
“It’s okay, big guy, you’ve got a lot going on right now.” America is watching him closely and Ivan remembers too late that he hasn’t changed his coat-that it’s still bloodied from the riots.
“We shall go to the hotel now then, da? Or perhaps we will reschedule?”
“Well, everybody’s still waiting so now is good, I guess. There’s a cab waiting,” America says smiling brightly and Ivan nods (he can clean up when he gets to the Kremlin…) “Let’s go then!”
Ivan follows (drags his feet, one foot in front of the other) and it starts to snow. He can feel the General’s grip on his nation- on his heart. Somehow he doesn’t think he’ll make it to the meeting.
“This means war.” America forcefully pushed back his chair with a loud screech and stormed out of the conference room, enraged that no one believed him. As he slammed the door shut he heard England telling Russia to not believe him and that he shouldn’t take him seriously, playing him off as if he was a child making up stories.
”’Don’t take him seriously’, I’ll show you damn seriously!” America thought to himself behind the large double-doors, “Fine England, if you don’t want to believe me than fine. I will save these people myself.”
He stormed out of the building, marched over to his car, and drove off in angry determination. Conveniently the G8 meeting was taking place in D.C, so it was only a short drive to the White House where his current president lived, Carissa Theresa, the third female president and first to be openly gay. She was one of the few great presidents and had a tendency to say ‘ludicrous’ a lot. America was at a state of peace and prosperity ever since she came into office. The economy was the most stable and prosperous it has ever been. She was the head of major milestones in the U.S’s history. The U.S of A was in top condition. She was trustworthy and loved by everyone. And she didn’t believe America at all.
“What do you mean ‘ludicrous’?” America asked waving his arms around the oval office to emphasize his point.
“By ludicrous, I mean ludicrous,” President Carissa said coming around from her desk and leaning on it, a blatant sign that she wasn’t taking this seriously in the slightest, “You’re telling me that the Russian government is somehow secretly killing off their own people because there are trying to breed them into ‘Pure Violet Russians’ via selective elimination?”
“And every Russian citizen is given ‘Pure Violet Russian Duties’ that they have to preform and if they don’t they will be set to be killed by the government’s hit-men?”
“And the reason for the resent ‘purple bracelet’ fashion trend in Russia is actually a tag that the government sends out to the people who passed this test so that their hit-men will know who not to kill?”
“And they’re all doing this because they want to breed the Russian people into ‘Pure Violet Russians’ thusly become the greatest breed of people in the world?”
“America that’s absolutely –”
“Don’t say ludicrous!” America interrupted.
“Actually, I was going to say stupid.”
America gapped at her, his mouth wide open in disbelief.
“How could you say that?” America asked, extremely insulted.
“Because it is.” She replied easily.
“People are being murdered!”
Carissa sighed, “America, do you have any actual, legitimate, or solid evidence indicating that this ‘Pure Violet Russian’ plan is taking place?”
“Of course I do! There has been a huge decrease in the Russian population ever since this so called ‘fad’ has taken place! And I have the census to prove it!” America argued vehemently.
“But America, what facts are there that links those two thing together? And how does a decrease in population equal the government killing off its own people to ‘breed’ them?”
“Madam President I know it’s a little strange but I’m telling you the Russian government is doing this!” America insisted, practically pleading to his President to believe him, “Can you tell me that this strange weather phenomenon that’s been going on for three years isn’t the least bit suspicious to you? Barley anyone can get in or out of Russia!”
“America, I have always been tolerant of your vivid imagination and your grudge against Russia, but this is absolutely ludicrous!”
“America, stop wasting my time and forget this ludicrous fairytale!”
“Madam President, this is no fairytale! Russia is killing innocent peop-“
President Carissa glared at America, that ‘Shut up and get out of my office, I’m your boss’ look written all over her petit, freckled, and angry face.
“Yes ma’am.” America growled, forcing the words past his lips and admitting defeat. He walked out of the oval office and shutting the door behind him quietly.
As soon as the door had closed and the sound proof room was sealed, America lost his composure.
“I can’t believe her!” America thought angrily as he stormed through the White House. “I know it sounds insane, but it’s the truth! She wouldn’t even let me show her the evidence! She’s just like England, just like everyone else. I’m a kid, I shouldn’t be taken seriously, I’m over reacting, or I’m making things up to be a ‘hero’. Well, they’re wrong. People are dying!”
He swept his hands through his dusty blond hair, distressed and anxious. He didn’t have his people behind him. He didn’t have his President’s trust. And he didn’t have his army to declare war. People were dying and he was all alone.
“I will stop Russia. No matter what it takes!”
America marched fiercely through the decorated halls of the White House, ignoring the confused looks he got from the Secret Service agents strategically placed throughout the White House. He was going to get this done, even if he had to do it by himself.
“Up the third hall, two lefts, through the old door Lincoln always walked into, one right, up the stairs to the fourth floor, past the guards, last room on the left, in the closet, down the secret stairway, and… I’m here.” America thought to himself after taking complex twists and turns through the hall ways and secret passages he had memorized long ago America to end up in his personal secret room.
And by ‘secret’ I mean his old club house he built under the White House as a kid that no one knew about.
Although when he first started out his little club house was no more than a small room made out of wood underground. But over the years he was able to convert it into a high tech secret facility.
He punched in the secret code into the padlock that lay to right of the two huge steel doors: IActuallyAmVegetarianAndAllT heBurgersIEatAreVeggieBurger sAndTheBestColorInTheWorldIs SkyBlueBecauseThatIsMyEyeCol orIAmAPrettyPrincessGoMeIMad eTheInternetAndTheInternetIs Awesome, and the two six inch steel doors opened and America walked inside.
Not only was the large steel room chrome plated, creating a shiny and futuristic atmosphere, it was fully equipped with everything you could possibly need, especially for secret missions. Cloaking devices, tracking devises, a hearing aid that allowed you to hone-in to specific sounds, glasses that enabled you to see through bricks, cement, steel, iron, and just about anything else, along with the many other gadgets decorated the walls.
And best of all, these were all invented by Alfred himself, for himself. He didn’t let his army have these weapons, for he feared they would sure them for the wrong reasons. So they were for personal use only.
“Hey, Tony!” America called for his alien friend.
“Fucking limey!” Tony yelled from the very back of the room, which was a long ways away.
“Tony, I need my spying equipment!”
“Because Tony, people and dying. And it’s that fucking bastard Russia. He’s killing people, his own people.”
“Why would he do that? Because, he’s trying to breed his people into ‘Pure Violet Russians’ by killing off those who he deems ‘unworthy’. It’s sick.”
“I know because of the facts. Russia has been doing this for three years, under everyone’s noses. He thought no one would notice, but I did.” America narrowed his eyes and walked over to a white table at the left side of the room covered in papers.
“Three years ago a new ‘fashion trend’ started in Russia, violet bracelets, almost everyone wore them. In that same year the population dropped 1/5th percent. But it wasn’t reported in that year’s census. Media such as the internet and news broadcasting stations, never reported on this. And the only news coming out from Russia, about Russia, was good. They’re trying to make their country look perfect.”
America walked over to Tony and said, “And the only negative news was something environmental - something their government and the people are not in control of. But why would they do that? To not look suspicious. But I caught on, I figured it out.”
America sorted through several papers and showed them to Tony.
“Look at this,” America showed Tony a pile of documents, “This is a list of people who have passed away do to unknown causes. They were all in near perfect health and yet they suddenly died. When I saw this I knew something was wrong, so I found out what they had in common. After two weeks of research I realized that someone in their family postedsomething on the internet that was immediately taken down, as in within milliseconds. I didn’t know what it was, but I do know it was important. There was another similarity: they didn’t wear the bracelet. They weren’t part of the ‘fashion trend’.” He glanced up from his papers and looked intensely at the alien seated on the opposite side of the table.
“They were set to be killed.”
“Fucking shit limey! Bitches… Fuck!”
“Yeah, that’s right. The people who Russia thinks are unworthy to be called a ‘Pure Violet Russian’ are killed. He’s breeding a ‘perfect’ nation. And to think he fought alongside me during WW2.”
“Bloody shits,” Tony said, “That’s terrible.”
“I know, and I’m going to put a stop to it. If my President doesn’t believe me, fine. If I don’t have my army, fine. If I don’t have my people to back me, fine. If the U.S.A can’t do it, fine. If America can’t, I will. I’m taking this into my own hands. Alfred F. Jones will save these people. Even if I have to do it by myself.”
Discarding the papers America, no, Alfred ran over to his closet. Slamming the two-door chrome plated closet open Alfred shifted through the various garments and gear until he came upon his treasure, his invisibility suit. It took him 108 years of hard work to perfect it. And it does just what you think it does. It’s a full body suit that makes you completely invisible to the human eye and to any and all human technology, which means any type of camera, heat sensors, laser detectors, even the newly developed DNA detectors. The highest level of technology couldn’t pick him up. (Although Tony did say he looked like an idiot for wearing outdated fashion from Zuptar.)
Grabbing it he took off to the other side of the room where his many devises hung on the wall. ‘Granny Smith’s Hearing Aid’ – a hearing aid that allowed you to hone in on a specific place and hear what’s going on from great distances – ‘I Choose You Ink’ – an ink that can only be seen by the person’s DNA you put in it – the ‘Camo-Tent’ – made from the same material as the invisibility suit, perfect for avoiding bears while camping – and ‘Ol Shotgun McGee’ - it’s a shotgun.
Dressed in his invisibility suit unable to be seen by any human eye, he took his gear and placed them carefully in his camo pack, of course made in the same material as the invisibility suit.
“Tony,” he said solemnly to his longtime friend, “I won’t be back for a while, not until I put a stop to this. So hold down the fort for me, okay?”
“I will.” Tony replied back.
“Oh, and,” Alfred said standing in the door frame looking over his shoulder, “If I die because of this, tell them: I told you so.”
“Would you two shut up?!” England finally yelled, sick of the umpteenth time America and Russia interrupted the meeting, “America could you please not get into a fight with Russia every time you see him?”
America’s head snapped over to England’s gaze and his once warm, soft, sky blue eyes were icy cold as they narrowed, “I’m not the one killing my people!”
Russia’s eyes flared in anger. Gritting his teeth he growled, “That doesn’t concern you America.”
America’s focus came back to the Russian’s fiery glare, “I’m the hero, you bastard. Heroes save people!” He shouted, his voice consuming the entire room.
“Keep your idiotic ‘hero’ opinions to yourself! My country is my country and your country is yours. You may do what you want with it, but don’t meddle in other nations’ business!” Russia retorted angrily, his violet eyes flaring like a forest fire.
“Your people can’t even speak their minds because your sick selfishness!” America yelled standing up, “All your government wants is money and power. Your people are suffering! You self-centered, compassion deprived, power obsessed, communist, bastard!”
“My people are perfectly happy,” Russia said steadily, leaning over the conference table closer to the pompous American challenging him, his fingers drumming subtlety across the conference table.
“Happy? How would you know? You’ll kill anyone who disagrees with your corrupt government and your inhuman laws!”
Russia’s body stiffened, “Stay out of my business America. I can take care of my own people,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
America glared at him angrily, “Take care of your people?! Is the ‘Pure Violet Russian’ plan what you call taking care of your people?!”
For a split second Russia’s eyes widened in fear. But then his hands became fists. His body shook in anger. His face darkened, his eyes narrowed, and he glared at America, daring him to speak.
“My intelligence tells me that your government is murdering people that aren’t to your standards! You’re killing people you deem unworthy to create a ‘Pure Violet Russian’ country!” America yelled throwing his fists onto the table in front of him, “Your people have to send in a yearly report of all their ‘Pure Violet Russian Duties’, those who pass receive a violet tag from the government. For the fortunate people who do pass, they get the privilege of living! And those who don’t are murdered by your government!”
America looked to the other nations in disgust, “That’s why they wear those purple tags. It’s no fashion trend. It’s so that their hit-men know who not to kill!” America turned back to Russia, “You’re breeding your own people through the process of selective elimination! You’re killing innocent people!”
As the other nations watched America with concerned looks, they did not notice Russia violet eyes widen in shock and fear.
“Is this true Russia?” England asked bored, sighing and leaning back in his chair, fiddling with a pen. He was tired of being the mediator of America and Russia’s ridiculous fights. Last week America accused Russia of broad casting hypnosis messages through television. The week before that he said that Russia was infusing vodka into the water system… well that one was somewhat believable.
Russia’s face darkened. He looked down at the conference table where his clenched fists lay. Even with his long white coat on, which Russia always wore, he could see his own scars branching across his wrists and slightly down his hand. Scars, which were reminders of the countless wars and hate, were spread across his entire body.
Russia raised his head from the table, “No, absolutely not! This is a ridiculous accusation and I’m offended that any of you would believe it,” he said coldly, looking straight into England’s emerald eyes.
America frowned angrily, glared at Russia, and said sternly, “This means war.” And with that America pushed his chair back, and walked out of the conference room.
England stared at America as he stormed out of the conference room, shocked and aggravated by his declaration of war and this ridiculous idea of Russia killing off his own people. Every now and then America would conjure up things from out of nowhere and blow rumors out of proportion. This was most likely that, America hearing some stupid rumor and jumping to conclusions.
He looked over to Russia’s fuming figure and said, “Please don’t take that seriously. He says that every time I tell him that Doctor Who is better than My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.”
Russia turned his head to England’s, his mouth a straight line, his eyes steady and dark, and starred at England for a few glaring moments. Soon his usual childlike smile returned to his face, his eyes wide and innocent, but his stare was still cold and distant.
“Yes, you are right Angliya. Amerika gets worked up over things he doesn’t know of or understand,” he said calmly, “I will be going now.” He pushed his chair back neatly, adjusted his scarf, and briskly walked out the door.
Once Russia exited the building and firmly away from anyone’s sight his child like composure crumbled. His teeth clenched shut as his fist pounded into a nearby wall out of pure anger. Russia’s lip twitched as he snarled in hate, rage, and distress.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He thought with every pound of his fist.
“Idiot, how could you have been so careless? What are you going to do now?!” Russia asked himself as he walked to his car, “America cannot interfere with this! How did he get that information? I have been working meticulously on this for years! The last thing my country needs is a stupid pompous idiotic nation playing ‘hero’ and sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. This is my country, my people, damn it! He has no idea of what and me my government are doing! I am taking care of my people!”
Russia’s blood started to boil and his heart began to beat furiously. He was clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles became white as his face was becoming red with anger.
He took a deep breath, “Okay, calm down. We have to settle this quietly. I have to brush it off so no one will notice. But this is a delicate matter. I have to be careful.”
Russia pulled into his hotel parking lot and repaired his broken composer.
As he walked through the lobby he spotted the Baltic States, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.
His heavy winter boots thudded against the carpeted floor. The Baltics heard the familiar sound; their muscles tensed, their senses alert.
As Russia passed them he said quietly, “Come,” and he walked off toward the stair way.
He never liked using elevators. For one, he thought they gave you a false sense of security. You thought you were alone, but really you are being watched – security cameras - and second now-a-days no one ever took the stairs and because of that no one bothered to put up security cameras. And thus he was guaranteed to be alone and away from prying eyes.
The Baltics looked at each other wearily, unspoken messages of fear were sent to one another. And after a few moments, carefully, the Baltic States followed. Whenever Russia ordered them to follow quietly, something was terribly wrong.
Once they were all safely in the stairway, walking up the stairs Russia said, “Did you three see that ice cream shop down town? The ice cream is deliciously cold, like the home land.”
Were you three at the G8 meeting? Information has been leaked.
Estonia adjusted his glasses and replied quietly, “Yes, the chocolate ice cream was outstanding. I was unable to finish it though.”
Yes, we saw everything. America is on to you. I followed him out when he left so I don’t know what happened after that.
“I don’t favor chocolate ice cream, but what saves it, I think, is when it’s soft severed. Then the taste is magical. It eliminates all those chunks of ice. Don’t you agree Lithuania, Latvia?”
He knows too much. This could compromise everything. For now no one believes him because of England. He passed it off as gossip. I believe we should do the same.
“I always thought that nuts tasted well with chocolate ice cream?” Lithuania said without thinking.
Don’t you think we should bomb America to stop him from talking?
Russia chuckled lightly. His laugh was cold and frightening.
His laugh was one of a spoiled prince looking down on his subjects, laughing at how pathetic and worthless they were as they groveled in filth, “Oh Lithuania, you should never put nuts on soft served chocolate ice cream. It should be sprinkled.*”
Idiot, if I silenced him then everyone would know there was something I was hiding. This has to slowly evaporate away, not disappear in an instant.
By this time they had ascended the stairs and entered Russia’s hotel room. Even though the high class hotel room was sound proofed they still spoke in code.
“Oh, I guess your right Ivan. Sprinkles would be best.”
Without warning Lithuania found himself slammed against the wall, being held above ground by the scruff of his neck. Russia held him there with one, large, brutal hand. His face was dark and deadly.
Russia’s grip was so tight Lithuania coughed and struggled to get any air.
As Russia nearly chocked him holding him up by his neck, he leaned his head down, right next to his right ear. Lithuania’s eyes widened when he felt Russia hot breath on his ear. He smelled the familiar sent of rage and vodka. They grew even wider when Russia bit down on the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
Russia’s voice was deep with his heavy, husky, Russian accent as he whispered/growled slowly, “You will never call me by that name when discussing ice cream. If you do so again, than I will have no other choice but to invade your country once more,” he said then slowly licking the curves Lithuania’s ear, “Understand?”
As he pulled back and dropped Lithuania on the floor his sweet smile was back on his face, “It has been a long day. We should all get some rest.”
The other Baltics looked at him wide eyed. Lithuania gasped for air, coughing and holding his bruised and pained neck. The atmosphere was heavy and terrifying. They didn’t move from the places they stood, just stared in fear.
Russia’s innocent smile turned to a dark frown. He scowled and commanded, “Leave.”
Estonia and Latvia helped Lithuania up off the floor and they all left in a hurry.
After the door had closed and the sounds of the other nations disappeared, Russia let out a heavy sigh.
He walked over the window of the extravagant hotel room. The sky was dark and black.
The Moon did not show her soft, pale face. The only light that emitted from the sky was of the small – ever so small - lights of shy stars, shining dimly through the sheet of darkness.
Staring out into the open sky Russia thought to himself, “Even now, as I sit here watching the night go by, more and more impure blood is being spilt and Russia is becoming purely violet once again.”
No one had really seen Russia Fight before.
Sure, during the whole ‘pictonian Fiasco’ as it was dubbed, they had seen him, (in America’s words) ‘Hi-Five their faces’.
But no one had ever seen him in a blind fury.
Almost literally blind.
As the enraged Russian roared in fury, the gash across his left eyebrow spilled a stinging stream of red into his eye, forcing his to close it.
The other glinted maliciously and glowed with a deep black – purple colour.
It was just a lucky shot from one of the rioters, really, a stray bullet that luckily missed his eye itself…
But boy was Russia mad about it. You could almost see the dark aura surrounding him as he ripped into the small gathering of trouble makers clustered outside the hotel, grabbing one by the back of his collar and decking him into another, swinging the man’s body as you would a sledgehammer.
Even Germany was a little worried, as the deranged nation bulldozed past him, aiming a punch at another balaclava clad enemy, and began to wonder if maybe he should stop him before he actually KILLED someone.
Which seemed very likely at the moment.
“RUSSIA!” the German tried to direct the larger nation’s attention towards himself, but gripped as he was by bloodlust, Russia completely ignored the blonde, favouring to continue muttering under his breath…KolKolKolKolKolKolKol…..
Luckily (for them),the remaining rioters, however, had decided (wisely) that maybe they wanted to live to see another sunrise, and weren’t so bothered about the fruitlessness of Government meetings after all.
They began to run, following the leader like a herd of sheep, leaving a trail of litter and “we want results” banners in their wake, abandoning the unconscious members of their party on the path.
Russia skidded to a halt, heroically resisting the urge to chase his frightened prey, knowing in his repressed subconscious mind that it would do no good.
So he stood, panting heavily in the centre of the street, blood and sweat dripping down his face.
as the pounding chant that echoed through his mind began to fade, the bruised laceration above his eye began to throb as the last man disappeared round the corner.
Slowly, he calmed down.
He was aware of the sound of booted feet pounding towards him, and germany’s voice calling his name.
Heaving himself reluctantly out of his mental bubble, Russia pulled himself back to reality as a large hand clapped down on his shoulder.
The taller man glanced down at the concerned blonde with his good eye (which was now its usual pleasant shade of violet), and sidestepped his grip pointedly.
He turned on his heel, walking calmly back into the hotel, crunching over the broken glass, shattered when the first bricks where hurled.
America and England stared after him, gaping, as the others milled about nervously.
Germany raised an eyebrow and shook his head as he slowly picked his way over fallen rioters (some of which were beginning to stir), and began to usher the nations back inside the building, just in case the mob had a change of heart and grew some balls.
As Alfred (lingering behind) surveyed the scene, he found himself overcome by a sense of awe and respect.
In fact, he was almost at a loss for words.
He stood in thought for a while, and decided that only one phrase could suit such a situation.
“Holy fucking SHIT.”
Mei sat in the comfort of her backyard, legs crossed, a sturdy boulder in the wintry breeze. The meager fence did nothing to keep out the stinging wind, though this bothered Mei little. Her mind was empty of thought, her body numb to the cold, her heart the only thing thumping steadily with the gale. A whisper fell upon her, a breath of life warming the side of her neck.
Fingers fell to her shoulder, a pair of lips pressed against her collarbone roughly. Mei flushed, snapping back to reality.
“Ivan-lang…” she whispered, leaning back into the Russian as he wrapped his arms around her. “Ivan-lang…”
“Da…? It’s me, lyubluv…”
His was a deep whisper, laced with his thick accent, overlapped with an affection he rarely displayed in this era. Her golden eyes went to the firmament, struck with awe at the wonder she’d been awaiting, uncertain as to whether she should trust it. The bright blue haze only stared back at her, offering no answer to her inquiry, almost as if mocking her. She glanced at the barren peach tree of her yard for guidance, only to realize it had long ago fallen asleep for the winter.
“Mei-mei…” He nibbled her ear, and her heart sank. This bite, it was not rough, it was not malicious… It felt like him, the man he had forsaken so long ago, the man she had learned to love and trust, the man who had given her hope. She turned to look into his eyes, forehead to forehead, her hands falling to his shoulders eagerly.
They were no longer the fading twilight they had morphed into. This gaze was a brilliant sunbeam split by the tallest glacier, a spectrum of hope and warmth, love and tenderness. Her heart jumped and she forced his face into her chest, tears bursting from her starry orbs, streaming down her moony face. It had finally happened, after all this time. She couldn’t say she knew how, but it had. All her midnight prayers, all her hard work—the Universe had acknowledge it, finally,finally. Finally, her Glacier Prince was back.
Her fingers entwined ‘round his platinum locks as she sobbed vigorously. It had been too long, and she could do little to pin down her ecstatic thoughts. He pecked her breasts, lifting his countenance up to look at her, greeting her again with the broad smile she’d tucked away in her memories. A zephyr passed between them and her heart sank.
It was forced, this grin. The shadows that hid his eyes had returned, the malice on his face subtle yet persistent. It had been too good to be true after all. She’d gotten carried away yet again.
“Ivan-gui… Ivan-zuxia… Ivan-lang…”
She pulled back, stumbling to her feet. The Russian rose with more poise, watching her patiently.
“What’s wrong, Mei-mei…?”
“You are not yourself, Ivan-gui,” snapped Mei, a fist trembling at her side. “How dare you touch me—I, you—you played with my memories, you hurt me, you manipulated my guilt! All these years, I still chase you, and yet…to no avail!”
He stood silent, his grin fading into apathy, his cold eyes dimming, dying, yet again.
“I want you back, Ivan,” said Mei, her tone desperate, her knees wobbling. “I love you! You’re a piece of me, Ivan, you are!”
“You said you loved Alfred, did you not?”
She stared back, dumbstruck. That wasn’t what she meant…was it? No, it hadn’t been. Whenever she had pursued him, she’d left emptier than she came. She knew his love was both adoration and lust, mixed into one—she was the whore who wanted to be saved, who pushed herself into his arms, only to disappoint herself. She didn’t love Ivan Brigansky—she couldn’t have. Back then, he was the epitome of kindness and valor—she admired him, lusted for him, but did not love his heart. He had become a mere machine, locking his heart away, and she still leeched on any emotion he did spew. No, this was not romance. This was love, the love of herself, a piece of her life, a man that had cared for her despite seeing the pathetic worm that she was.
“I do love Alfred,” said Mei slowly, retaining a sturdy stare. “I love Alfred more than anything I’ve known… He is warm, he is strong. But Ivan, I love you, too. I… I loved who you were, what you’d done, not who you have become… I loved you so much.”
He raised a dubious eyebrow, the only hint of life on his otherwise placid face.
“You… I can’t explain, I can’t…but you are so very important to me, Ivan, so very important to me. I owe it to you to tell you all this…to tell you that I loved you, that I cared for you, that I still care so deeply for you… Forgive me, forgive my lust, forgive my sin… Please, please, come back…”
She fell to her knees, her gaze to the silent earth.
“I want you to be happy, and I want him to be happy. Take my life if you want, please. Take my life if it’ll make everything better! You saved me from a pit of despair—I wouldn’t be here without you, Ivan! I owe you so much, I owe you everything…”
Pitiful tears stung the skin of the mother that watched from beneath. The Chinese let her arms fall to the ground, fingers tightening around fistfuls of dead grass.
“You…I love you…I love you, Ivan…I love you… All this time, I’ve been waiting for you to come back, chasing you, looking for signs of you, hoping you haven’t died, hoping you could find yourself…and yet, every day, I realize a little more that you won’t come back to me, that you won’t become who you were, that I’ve lost you forever due to my own selfishness…If I could do anything different, it’d be what happened between us…you’ve taught me how to love selflessly, how to love fully, how to see outside myself…Ivan, you’ve taught me so much I should have learned on my own…you’ve taught me so much I should have learned…on my own…”
He’d stopped responding. This was normal for her emotional outbursts, but it had seemed even the wind had stopped responding to her cries. Mei looked up to see a skeleton propped up on its own, at least six feet tall, towering over her where Ivan once stood. She cried out to the Heavens, throwing fists at her head, clawing wildly at her muddy locks mercilessly. She’d lost, she’d lost everything. With a final pound of her fist to her chest, she shot upward in bed.
The incessant beeping of her rooster alarm went off, and Mei released a heavy sigh, tapping it shut. She threw off her Hello Kitty bedcovers and marched over to her dresser where her eyes fell to a certain portrait of the Russian from her dream. There he stood in the black and white, beside her, both dressed in polished blazers, his gaze firm, hers hardened. A finger ghosted across his solemn face, exploring the faded memory anew.
I still have time… I can get you back. I won’t fail. I love you. Return to us you will.
Ivan Braginski dragged his exasperated self up the stairs in the reserved silence of his home with a faint sigh, worn from a long days work and ready to collapse into a deep slumber not daring to think of tomorrow. Today has been yet another weary day for the Briton, all his soul begged for was a break. Knowing that it won’t come seemed to make days go by more draining and outstretched. The stillness of his envoirment ceases his mind to wonder.
The heavy burdensome job of being a representation of a nation was near backbreaking, or at least it feels so to Ivan. Knowing that no normal human would understand, besides his fellow nations. Given that, he could never fuss about it. Instead, he’ll question what will remain of him due to the fact that him or any other nation is deathless, they know by the virtue of times when blood was shed in war, or their own by their own hands.
Ivan, or distinctly any of the nations, try not to form contiguous bonds with mortal humans. Knowing that the humans are destined to be born, to live, and then to die, and experience what exists after death. Recurrently, Ivan feels as if he’s trapped, he can’t run, for he’s a nation. He can’t shut his eyes, for if he did the remembrance of past tragedies would repeat endlessly through his mind. He couldn’t let himself get wrapped up in these thoughts, if he did so his duty as a nation would slip through his hands. He couldn’t let that happen to him, the reputation of his nation, or his people.
At time’s he feels desolate, after the passing of one ruler of his nation to another. Having to fight in wars, seeing his soldiers depart and knowing that he will remain when it’s over. Learning through time that the person that you would take a bullet for ends up to being the behind the gun. Of course he could shoot, but it wouldn’t do away with the other man.
But not all the time that he feels this way, he knows his fellow nations live through near the same of hardships as he. Maybe not all of them seem to realize that all they have in the end is each other. Even during times of war, knowing that the other man will always be there they know that one day things will be fair between them. Having to live through an endless life, they are bound to get through it sometime. Maybe it’s the thought of this that prompts them to keep going.
Ivan entered his room, turned off the light and plunged into his bed. The warm, doting, safe vibe of his home gave him a drifting laze. He felt in a dwindling atmospheric state, like a snowflake in the winter sky. Holding on to this feeling, fearing to let it go if he give in to his sleepy trance. It was times like this that makes his mind wonder. The setting of his hushed environment was enough to set the mood.
He thought of what it’s like to have a genuine, ordinary, family, one’s like the people in his nation do. With an ordinary job, and a ordinary life. In the genuine, ordinary, families that Ivan would observe, the families grow old together, well some do, and some don’t. Some split apart after they start, some even before. He witnesses the changes in them as well.
You could say that Ivan has a family, or had a family. A family who has been broken, considerably put back together, only to get broken again. But is still good. No matter what emotion Ivan is overcoming, deep inside him lies a gratified and contented feeling. The feeling is stored so far and deep within him it takes only what it started to get it out. In Ivan’s family, whatever directions they take will always bring them back to each other, it’s another thing that Ivan cannot simply run from. Despite the feeling of being somewhat trapped, this also brings out a feeling of security in Ivan. Regardless of his constant denial, he likes it.
Maybe it’s a good thing for Ivan and his fellow countries to never cease to exist. Having to watch each other go, like they do with their rulers, soldiers, and mortal friends, until it came down until the last. At the thought of that makes Ivan a little afraid if he was a mortal being. Or maybe its because of the powerful bonds he has with the other nations, from knowing them longer then the average mortal humans lifespan gives him another perspective on life then of what they have.
Ivan finally allowed himself to sleep. He wouldn’t get much sleep in, he seemed to have lost track of time by the cause of thinking so deeply as he did. Morning came before he knew it. As his usual days, it takes him awhile to detach from his bed and get himself ready for the rising distressing day like any other. His morning rituals flew by swiftly and it seemed in a blink of an eye he was out of the comforts of his home.
Usually at the meeting’s he’d have with the other nations, Ivan’s role would be an opinionated indisputable man. But today he felt like keeping quiet, unless Francis said something so unbearable that he just had to voice his opinion over. The other nations seemed to notice Ivan’s state, and he could almost feel their concern. But none of them chose to say anything, because they all knew that things would go by quicker the less of the asserting or dispute there was. Or at least that’s what Ivan was picturing them thinking that, and he was probably right. But not all right.
After the meeting, Alfred caught Ivan’s attention. One of the last things Ivan wanted at the moment. Not that Alfred’s presence gave Ivan an defective state, but Ivan’s head still felt out of place from his thinking the other night. Seeing Alfred’s bright enlivening smile can’t fail to put Ivan in high spirits, but he didn’t know about today. He couldn’t tell him what was exactly on his mind, not now at least. This kind of staggered Ivan, usually Alfred didn’t notice what was going on with the others around him’s inner feelings, or at least he didn’t care usually to address them.
This also brought Ivan back into the rhythm of his own thought. But this time he saw it in another view. His endless life, with a group of people who will always be there with him, the hardships they’ll go through and the roads they take will all end up back to each other. Ivan would never be alone, no matter how many times he becomes broken and is put back together, breaking another in the process but having the capability of putting them back together too. Making him feel an odd sort of contentedness.
This is what he has, a life not knowing what’s ahead but never having to experience an end. A life that keeps going on but he is never alone. And with this, it is still good.