WARNING: Potential triggers with those who suffer from eating disorders.
America sighed as he came to the latest world meeting; it was always a big pain in the ass. It wasn't that it was incredibly unpleasant, it was just that.. well.. he had plenty of other things to do! Like eat burgers- no, he did that at meetings too- or play video games, or, or... okay he was lazy!
If he had any credit to it though, it was to be a rather stressful meeting. Russia was to be coming to it; his country was in the middle of a devastating famine. It was the first time in a while that Russia would even be seen. America didn't really know how to react to it; how does a country react to something as utterly depressing? America didn't really know much about famine. Sure, there was the Great Depression, but that was once. Anyway, he got out of that situation real quick, back to juicy burgers and salty fries.
Still, America wondered how Russia would look. The other nations came bustling in, startling America out of his daze. Germany was in the lead, stoic as always. Following was Italy, chattering away to the quietly listening Japan, curl bobbing in the air. France and England were bickering among themselves, and China muttered behind them, complaining about the stupidity of young nations. And lastly... Russia.
America was confused; wasn't Russia supposed to be in the middle of a famine? Russia was wearing the same old beige overcoat, and the same greyish pink scarf, the only minor difference was the bandage wrapped around his right eye, and the slight wobbling that even America was capable of noticing.
As the white haired nation sat down, the meeting finally began. The topic was of what food exports each country would be providing for the following year.
America took that time to stare at Russia, spotting details he hadn't noticed in his quick scope. Russia wore finger-less gloves; the exposed fingers reminded America of tree branches in the winter, thin and spindly. His fingernails were chipped; some were halfway torn, red lines traveling under the thin cotton gloves.
Not only that, but America couldn't see an outline of Russia's body through his overcoat. America had at one point tried on Russia's coat, and his own outline was clearly visible. Yes, he was chubby (shut up!), but it still wasn't good. Before, Russia's outline was fuzzy at best, hard to spot. Now, however...
Finally, America's eyes traveled to Russia's face. His lower face, as always, was covered by his scarf; just above it, America could see where the hollows of his cheeks began, deep, deep dips underneath prominent cheekbones. Bruises were visible, peeking underneath the blood bandaged eye, as well as his nose. His visible eye though... It was glazed over, unseeing, with a dark shadow underneath; it sent cold shivers down America's spine.
"...Rica...America... AMERICA!"
America snapped out of his reverie, looking at a very pissed of Germany.
"Yeah, dude?" America replied nonchalantly.
"Listen to the topic!" Germany barked.
"Alright, alright, sheesh."
Germany gave a sound of frustration, before turning to Russia and saying, "I know it's a rather redundant question, but it's against the rules to skip it. Which foods, if any, will you be exporting this year? I understand that you-"
"Wheat and potatoes," Russia cut in, his voice strained and quiet. Germany was quiet for a moment, shock on his face, before nodding professionally.
"What?! Why?! Aren't you supposed to be in the middle of a famine?!" America burst out, a look of horror on his face. "You can't- you have to stop!"
Russia looked over at America, a smile stretched on his face.
"Don't you think I would if I could?"
"Don't you think I would if I could?" Those words haunted America. The tone of his voice, his facial expression; it was a dim acceptance, the knowledge of knowing nothing can be done. It disturbed him; Russia wasn't the type to say that. It must of been how he truly felt, though, the sincerity of his emotions. Russia was breaking, America realized. Breaking and falling apart. There must have been something else going on. What exactly, America didn't know.
He left the meeting in shock. It wasn't right; Russia's people were starving to death, numbers tolling in the millions and still rising, and his bosses chose to send what little food they had to other countries? Why wasn't Russia fighting? Eyes unseeing, he bumped into a nation with shoulder-length hair; Lithuania.
"Oh. Hello, America. Are you okay?" Lithuania asked the other.
"Yes, no, I don't know!" America exclaimed, hands coming up to clutch his hair. It wasn't like him to be so worried, but he couldn't help it. "I'm pissed off at Russia's boss. I mean, the nation's in a famine, right? Is he insane?!"
"I understand what you mean, America," said Lithuania, nodding wisely. "Unfortunately, that's the way it is with Russia's bosses. I don't know the extent- we're separate countries after all- but I can infer from how well he handles pain that he's had some rather unfortunate experiences. And from that facial expression earlier, he most likely has experienced this very same situation many times."
"Wait, weren't you in the Soviet Union?" America burst out. "Shouldn't you know anything about Russia's bosses?"
Lithuania let out a sigh.
"Yes, but the nation you're thinking of is different. The one called Soviet Union," Lithuania shifted uncomfortably, "was a separate entity from Russia. I still don't know what happened to Russia during that time, but Russia always steers clear of anything relating to that topic. I've only heard small pieces and seen tiny snippets, but..."
"I get it."
America bade Lithuania farewell, and headed off to the nearest McDonald's drive-thru. After receiving his meal, he drove home.
Russia headed back on the plane, collapsing in his seat, shaking. He was so, so tired. He could barely stay conscious throughout the meeting. Russia stifled a pained sound, at the terrible pain that ripped through him; another explosion of pain on his body, adding to the gnawing hunger and screaming injuries.
It felt as though he was being burned and pierced with knives and hit with a white hot blunt object and his head pounded and he was extremely hungry. His entire body was covered in bloody bandages; he had to wrap a belt two times over to even get his pants to stay on his hips, but it hurt to even wear them. It hurt to sit. It hurt to lay down. He just wanted it to end. Please...
A strained sound escaped past tightly sealed lips, and Russia began to slip even further from consciousness. Leaning his head against the window, Russia closed his eyes, letting himself slip into darkness, a slight relief.
...Blood spread across his overcoat, covering a large expanse of it. Russia writhed on his bed, screams muffled by the end of his scarf shoved in his mouth. His boss came barging in, screaming and cursing him, told him to get off of his worthless ass and work, so much paperwork to be done. He ignored the large blood stains covering his personification, the amount of pain Russia was in, and demanded that he get to work.
Bottling everything inside, Russia stood up, shaking violently from the strain of keeping in the pain. He stumbled down the hall to the office, leaning heavily on the wall. There were black spots in his vision, the world was spinning, he just wanted to go back and collapse and not have to contain the agony. But he had to do piles of paperwork, or his boss would be angry at him, and would punish him; Russia didn't think he could handle that, and so he began to write. Tears dripped down his face without Russia noticing, as he doubled over in agony whilst writing.
What was he signing now? He couldn't tell anymore. It all blurred together; whatever it was, it was bound to hurt him in the long run, he could feel it. As he finished the papers, Russia heard his boss talking to someone angrily on the phone; some plan must have gone awry. Something about the military not trying hard enough, worthless people...
A bad premonition hit Russia, the feeling of something terrible to happen. Only time would tell what it would be.
That's it for now! Please tell me your opinions, as it makes me happy. -Potato