The agony searing through me with each breath almost rivals that of the guilt that tears at me relentlessly. I should be out, assisting my troops, rallying my people, keeping my friend and caretaker from killing each other. If nothing else, I should have just kept my mouth shut from the start.

Instead, I'm lying on my back in a nameless forest along one of my borders, doing my best to stay conscious as waves of raw pain rip through me. I am literally fighting myself right now. And I'm not winning. Two different sides of me are at war with each other, ripping me apart.

As if on its own accord, my right arm shoots over and grips my left, nails digging into my own skin with such ferocity that it draws blood. They drag across my arm, and as one side of my mind screams in pain, the other screams in triumph. This is 'emo' on a whole other level. I am reveling in my pain, without having a choice otherwise.

Ten years so far, it's gone on like this, without showing a hope of stopping. In the beginning, I'd been able to cope, albeit with great difficulty. But as the fighting had escalated and grew more fierce, so did the 'attacks' that struck me at random. They became more and more brutal, to the point that I would collapse, suffering and immobile, for hours on end.

I had been on my way to China's house, my mind made up to tell the old man to stop the senseless violence wracking my country as well as both of our militaries. Just let America win, already. What difference would it make to either of them? It was my life that had been made a practical living hell. Since that headstrong Westerner had nosed in and butted heads with China, anyway.

And of course my sovereign, 'Mr.' France, couldn't really care less about what's happening; I'm just one of his colonies after all, and most of the way across the continent at that. He couldn't 'babysit' all of us.

If I had known this was the situation I would be in, I would've just kept my mouth shut years ago. I would've happily continued my life under Mr. France, had I known this was the price I'd pay for desiring a change.

Thousands of my people are dying, I'm slowly killing myself, and it's all because of an upstart 'friend' of mine from across the sea is overly paranoid.

'How long has it been?' I wonder. 'How many days have I lain here like this?' I wonder how much longer it will be. How much longer I'll end up suffering.

Before everything just… fades.