Pain. If there was something that Russia experienced the most, that was it. His bosses loved to torture him for the slightest of infringements; he would be forced to continue working on never ending piles of paperwork, even when barely conscious from unbearable agony. His leaders... why was he cursed to have such terrible leaders? Only one, only one of his bosses was tolerable.
Catherine the Great; she was the one leader who had improved the lives of his people. They gained a sliver of freedom, and at the same time so did Russia. It was the first time in his long life that he didn't have to fear his boss to the same degree as before. One good leader, out of hundreds of terrible ones. Why? Why was he cursed to suffer at the hand of his leaders? What did his people ever did wrong? There was barely any food for them to live; only 5% of the population was in a good state; most of that government officials.
But it would never change, would it? Russia thought that once Catherine broke the cycle of terrible, tortuous leaders, life would become better; he had been wrong. Russia thought that Tsar Aleksander II could change things; once again, wrong. He thought life would get better once he was freed from the Soviet Union; he was wrong again. The cycle never would end, would it? Would he simply have to endure the torture until the end of the world?
Russia covered his body at all times. His body was covered with scars, barely any flesh left unmarred. Currently, his boss was using his personification as a whipping block out of sheer boredom. Desperately trying to keep quiet, Russia trembled with effort. A crack of the whip lit his back on fire once more; he had barely remained silent. His boss had been going at it for how long now? Two, three hours? Russia had lost track of time. Another crack came crashing down, and unprepared, he let out an outcry of pain. Realizing his mistake, a ripple of fear passed through his body, his boss grinning maniacally. Now that Russia let out a scream, he was more enthusiastic, abandoning his whip for different methods of inflicting power. The screams continued to echo through the building for hours.
...Russia slowly inched into consciousness; the day had turned into night. It felt as though he was on fire, white hot pain enveloping him. As his eyes slowly traveled throughout the room, he realized that his leader was leaning on a wall, an ominous expression on his face. Russia quickly stood up, ignoring the increased agony, slipping on a large, red sticky puddle. He needed to apologize to his leader, it being the only way Russia could leave.
He began to ask forgiveness, listing his "wrongs"; it was his fault for crying out, for not being able to handle the pain, for being a worthless excuse of a nation...
Once his boss approved of Russia's apologies, he was allowed to return to his home. Thanking his boss, Russia stumbled back home, and immediately curled tightly on his bed. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, sobs erupting from his mouth, finally able to express the excruciating pain. Eventually, his consciousness faded away, and Russia fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day, a world meeting, was exhausting for Russia. Russia's boss had come pounding at his door, exclaiming that he needed to make himself presentable for the meeting, and to not make a fool out of himself. Russia took a shower, the water only making the injuries scream more. Next, bandages were wrapped around his torso and thighs, blood already seeping through. Finally, he put on a long sleeved shirt, a pair of thick pants, a dark colored overcoat, and his ever present light pink scarf.
Russia was sent off to the meeting in Germany. It took him all his effort to focus on the discussions rather than the pain. The other nations had been extremely volatile today, snapping at each other, demanding the non-involved countries to pick a side; thankfully Germany had broken up the argument before Russia would be forced to pick one.
Once the half hour lunch break came around, Russia let out an inaudible sigh of relief. The other nations made a beeline to the buffet table, America being first in line. Russia didn't join them, not being able to keep anything down. Instead, he relaxed, trying to regain some energy for the second half of the meeting. The chattering amongst the nations was a soothing sound, lulling him into a half conscious state. He had almost fallen asleep by the time Germany called for the meeting to continue, startling and sitting up straight instinctively. Wincing, Russia focused his attention back in the meeting.
The meeting ended in two hours, causing Russia to deflate in relief; he could return home, not having to worry about keep up a mask. The only issue was his boss; he would have to be extremely careful around him, as he was bound to be in a dangerous mood.
Russia heard Italy talking with Japan, good naturedly complaining about his boss. Apparently Italy had been goofing off, and hadn't finished enough paperwork, resulting in his boss giving him a scolding.
A punishment that light... it baffled Russia, until he remembered just how different the other nations' bosses were from his own. Not being around other nations did that to him. Having to stay in close proximity with his boss had always led to constant suffering, and Russia would forget that other nations wouldn't receive such extreme punishments.
It would be nice to trade bosses for a day, Russia mused. To experience how other leaders reacted, their personality, but most of all, to escape his own boss. If someone experienced what he did, they would understand his struggles, and maybe reach out to him. Maybe then someone would care.
But who was he kidding? That would never happen...
It was okay, though. Russia was used to it, having no one care. He was fine.
He could live through it, he could, he could...
Could he? Could he truly take it any longer?
Suffer in isolation...
He was broken, Russia knew. He had been for a millennia.
Yet... If someone tried, truly tried, could he be put back together?
If only...
Russia...!
Huh...? Who was calling him...?
Russia!
Someone in the distance... Someone with honey colored hair, shining aqua eyes...
RUSSIA!
And there you have it! A good ol' angsty oneshot. The person in the distance, as you probably guessed, is none other than America. This can be seen as a companion to Smile. Please tell me your thoughts in the review! -Potato