Disclaimer: hetalia isn't mine.
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The world is merciless.
It's always been that way. Terrible, messed up, cold - just like how his land was. Corruption, despair had killed little bits of pride in his own people. Russia is no longer the man he was once.
The world is so merciless.
His people despite him. So many, many had tried to leave the country and died, and he had mourned for them. In the end, Russia was still the only person who buried those Russians with his hands stained with dirt. No one really remembered them, no one but him. And yet, they continuously tried to leave him behind.
The world is such a merciless place.
Merciless, unforgiving.. oh how often he has heard of his land being called that way. Everyone did, America, China, England.. No matter how many times he helped others, Russia is still marked with that soulless demon label. Ah, how disgusting to the ears, really.. Everyone judges him and not any single soul dares call out on America.
It saddens him, actually. Do they even have a heart at all?
Russia's heart randomly falls out of his chest. They all knew that. So how could they call him heartless? Russia could merely understand others sometimes.. He always thinks they ARE the ones without a heart. The one who laughed at others for their own sick pleasure, calling him heartless and cruel when they are actually those kinds of things.
That's why Russia tends to stay away from the others. He likes his field of sunflowers he has grown for years, cherishes the beautiful big petals blooming against the weak sun rays that shine upon his motherland. They are pure, scentless, without a sin in the world.
But the world is merciless. Russia learned it the hard way.
He was gifted a pack of seeds. Sunflower seeds. By a young pretty girl. She must probably have gotten lost from her parents that day, if he remembered correctly... She was so beautiful and bright. Lovely brown wavy hair with a missing tooth smile, and those misty violet eyes.. oh how they reminded him of his own. She was short and kind, funny and had small hands compared to his. That little girl, she had brought him the pack of seeds as thanks for bringing her back safely to her parents.
They started talking regularly, even if the youth's parents were unnerved about him at first. But Russia didn't care, he adored the little one so much. She had taught him how to take care of the flowers, danced with him, laughed with him. She told him he was kind, nice, that he had a beautiful heart.
But Russia knew the world is a merciless place.
He wasn't stupid. Not really. He was anything but such. Nation embodiments weren't born to act stupid for their land, except America because he hates him, they were chosen for a reason. He was the special kind, one of hundreds of nation embodiments that had ever walked the earth. He wasn't stupid, no, but he was a fool. He hadn't been able to save the girl in time.
There had been a cannibal roaming the streets of Moscow. Russia was unaware of this. Only until he saw the pale corpses of his favorite family when he went to visit did Russia's world came crashing down. The father, the mother, the older sister - the little girl.. Their hearts were missing and blood was everywhere on the carpet. Where their warm hearts used to lie were nothing but emptiness, and Russia could merely stand straight. He remembered falling to the floor while looking at the little child with dilated eyes, his orbs twitching violently. Russia pressed his head against her chest, trying to find her heartbeat among the deadly silence. Hollow, void of life, sorrow.. nothing was there. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
She had no heart. Where was her heart?
It's okay, isn't it? She was just waiting for him. She wasn't dead, no way - she would wake up soon though.. She was just missing her heart.
Yes, that's right.
She needed a heart to wake up. Russia has his. This would do well.
And what would he do when she woke up again? He would take care of her, maybe? Buy her the best things he could afford. She was such a beautiful person after all.
Russia ripped at his own chest as he stared blankly at the little girl, fingernails digging in his skin without any mercy. The sick smell of blood got to his nose when his heart fell out almost instantly, if not quite surprised that he was the one who ripped it out in the first place. Russia carefully set the heart down to fill the empty hole and waited, gleaming spark of hopefulness in his eyes. She would wake up - wake up. She would wake up and he would bury her parents together with him. She would cry but he would be there for the child. She was just a child after all. They were fragile and pure, they were beautiful. O-Of course they would always live a-again, b - because good people deserve nothing but the best.
But then why wasn't she waking up?
Russia's tears fell and landed on the floor. The world was so quiet outside.. He couldn't hear anything anymore. He didn't scream, didn't yell, didn't quail either. He was just on his knees with his head hung low, tears dropping from his cheeks in sorrow.. He couldn't remember, couldn't think. Couldn't breath. H-he was just a mere existence among others. He was just Ivan, he wasn't Russia. And Ivan mourned for the loss of his family.
Just like how he mourns for the merciless world.