"They're coming to take me away, ha haaa~…" The music in the background, playing on an old, slowly dying cassette player, only made the situation that much more creepy. The slow droning of the once-funny song actually summed up the situation quite nicely, in his opinion.
Shivering, he pulled his arms closer to his wet body, wishing he hadn't come here… wishing he'd ignored the Russian's incessant calls… wishing he were at home, in a clean, dry hoodie…
"Who are you?"
The sentence was asked not by his usual bear; instead, it was whispered from an unidentifiable source in the darkness, somehow loudly enough to just be heard. Shivers rolled up and down his spine.
He didn't dare answer. Fear coursed through his body.
"I'm glad you showed up, though," the whispering voice continued. "Whoever you are. We can play lots and lots of fun games… da?"
He trembled, still not saying anything. Sweat rolled down his face, and he shivered, clutching the sleeves of his dripping sweater.
A slight scraping noise in front of him caught his attention; his eyes locked on the table in front of him, the only light in the room focused on it. A gun was sliding toward him, the fingers that pushed it retreating back into darkness. Canada squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn't be happening.
They're coming to take me away, ho hooo… To the happy home… with trees and flowers… and chirping birds….
"I like this song~! Let's restart it…"
They're coming to take me away, ha ha… Canada trembled, neither reaching toward the gun nor away.
"You have heard of Russian roulette, da?"
Yes, of course he'd heard of it. Who hadn't? He only mutely nodded, unsure even if the unseen force could tell he'd answered. The light bulb over the table barely illuminated the outline of an old poster on the wall; a clown grinned at him.
Fun and games for all, the poster boasted. Bring the whole family!
They're coming to take me away… ha ha… to the funny farm…
Canada gulped back a lump of fear. He should never have come… should have listened…
If you hadn't come, he told himself sharply, it would have been America. You know that. He drew in a shaky breath.
"Hm. Obviously, you don't know the rules of the game. I shall explain them simply so that you can understand, da?" There was a slight pause. "Have a seat."
Canada weakly sat on the hard wood of the chair, still unable to say anything.
"Okay." The voice, just that one word, sounded so childlike, so innocent. "I'll explain. You pick up the gun. You spin the chamber. You put the gun to your head. You pull the trigger. If you live, you win, and it's my turn. We continue until somebody loses, da?"
To the happy home… trees and flowers… chirping birds…
He nodded again mutely.
"You start!" Canada swallowed, though his throat and tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. He fumbled with the gun – it felt alien in his hand – then shakily put it to his head.
"Spin, spin, spin~!" Canada pulled the thing back down, putting a violently trembling hand to the chamber and giving it a push.
I could really die.
The thought, up until now, hadn't really sunk in. He put the gun once more to his head.
…and they're coming… to take me… away… ha ha…
Relief flooded through him when it didn't fire, when the chamber was empty. Uncertainly, he spun it down the table.
How many times has he played this? The question flew through his mind. And he hasn't lost yet…
Spiiinnnn… click. "Yay, I won again!" It slid quickly to him, bumping his quivering hand. Sweat made his hand slip twice before he could spin the chamber.
You thought… it was… a joke… and so you laughed…
Click. Nothing. He opened his eyes, letting out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
A different click, then the rich bass of a different singer came through.
I see trees of green…
Red roses too…
I see 'em bloom…
For me and you…
"I got a little tired of that song, da? So I changed it. You don't mind do you?" The voice was happy. Peaceful. Calm.
And I think to myself… what a wonderful world…
He slid the gun back down to Russia.
Whirrrrrr… click. "I won again~!" The gun nudged his hand again, and Canada barely picked it up at all. He spun the chamber, dread making him hesitate.
I could die this time… or next time… or any time… He put the gun to his head, his hand hardly able to hold it. With each miss, it's more likely to hit me… He closed his eyes.
Click.
The muted sound was welcome to his ears. Shuddering, he slid it to Russia. Anytime, the gun would go off… anytime, one of them would die…
Whirrrrr… A slight chuckle. Then…
Click.
"We seem to both be having good luck today, da?" the childlike voice chuckled as the gun slid back to Canada.
The colors… of a rainbow… so pretty… in the sky…
Canada gulped, his hand shaking as he started to pick up the gun. He spun the chamber.
Are also… on the faces… of people… going by…
Slowly, shakily, he put the gun to his head. Thousands of thoughts raced through his head, all at the same time. How he'd shown up here, not sure what to expect, how he'd dodged the previous bullets by plunging into the river, how he'd finally made it to this room, following the instructions on that note… His thoughts turned to death… would he not feel anything, or would there be pain and then nothing, or since he was a country, would it even affect him at all…?
"Fire." The command was simple, straight, to the point. "You've been doing nothing for too long. Hurry up."
Click. Nothing. He slid the gun back down.
I see… friends… shaking hands… saying how… do you do…
Canada gulped, thinking of America, of England, of Kumajirou… who would take care of the poor bear when he was gone?
Whirrrrr… Canada's heart was in his mouth as the second seemed to last a lifetime.
Either him or me… win or lose… death or home… all in that one little bullet… His thoughts raced, pictures forming in his mind, of his brother, of Ukraine, whom he'd never told… if he ever got out of this, he was going to tell her he loved her… he was going to do a lot of things…
Bang!
Canada's head snapped up sharply at the noise, at the form, slumping in his chair in the dim light.
"…D-damn… I-l…lost…"
The Russian's head hit the table, a thick pool of blood spreading. Canada felt sick to his stomach, tears sprang to his eyes, tears of relief, of surprise, shock…
That could have been me. The words sprang to his mind as he stared at the limp Russian. The gun clattered to the floor, no longer useful. Canada stared into Russia's dull violet eyes, still open but no longer focused. The corners of his lips were almost turned upward into the faintest of smiles.
And I think to myself…
What a wonderful world…