Author's note:
M'kay... so I know this is really short, but this is just the prologue. Anyways, next chapter will be everyone's favorite hero, America.
Russia smiled. It hurt to smile, the muscles around his mouth ached with tension. But he couldn't stop. There was this crazy, wild, terrified laughter in his head, and it hurt so much he had to grin. His eyes flashed violet and his teeth gleamed cold white in the chiaroscuro of his parlor room. He picked up the gun.
The walls were covered with peeling, faded paper. Russia remembered when this room had always been full of people: his sisters, the Baltics. He had never been alone, then. But now? Now no one ever even came to see him. He might as well be dead.
He threw back his head as a sharp howl of laughter ripped from his mouth. He might as well be dead! The echoes of his insane cackle reverberated around the room, turning into one word and filling his head, pushing out from behind his eyes, wetting his cheeks. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead! Dead! He shut his eyes and grinned as he spun the barrel. It whirred, and his chest tightened in anticipation. He cocked the hammer and shoved the muzzle of the gun into his temple.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
BANG!