Russia and APH do not belong to me.

Ah, such a silent, lovely day. Such peace. Such graceful, falling snow. Such....

Such a need for a maid. Everything in this house is such a mess ever since Lithuania left. Seriously, I haven't done laundry in centuries... Now I'm sitting in front of my window- Is that a crack?- in a gloriously pink t-shirt. Yes, it was pink in the first place. No, I did not mix it with the red clothes in the washing machine, and I absolutely did NOT fill the washing machine by myself. I mean, I'm the freaking Soviet....

Oh.

Oh, right.

I'm not even the Soviet Union anymore, how nice is that? I'm just good old Russia, all alone in his huge house, going insane and staring at sunflowers and slitting his wrists every once in a few.

Not.

This is not a time for reminiscing, or weakness. Or slitting wrists. At least my own. Now, America's would be an unparalleled delight. But what a pity, boss says I can't do that. He'd probably get off on it, anyway.

Well, their idea is not far from reality. After the first three days, and the first three stomach washes from all the alcohol, I've been fairly depressed. And walking around in pink t-shirts and underwear has not been much of a mood raiser, either. But no suicidal tendencies. Yet. Who knows what the next vodka might bring?

Dum dum dum duuum...

Wasn't that the tune the three of them were singing..? I think it was. Hmm... Dum dum duuum dum... I can't remember, dammit.

Oh well... Damn, it sounds so loud when I walk in here. I better sit down again, I don't want to wake anyone up...

Oh wait. They're gone. Means I can walk around all I want. And that's what I'm going to do.

See, they say walking takes people's minds off things. The flaw in this plan is that I'm not a person. I'm millions of people.

It's been one of the worst New Year's celebrations ever. Not even Finland's fancy vodka and America's "So long sucker" phone call were enough to brighten it up.

It's not because the house it's empty. I've seen it empty too many times. It's because I spent the day trying to repair the windows, with -40 outside. Wonderful, no?

And then I drank until my eyes went yellow from the liver failure and blacked out for a day or two. Must've killed me, I guess.

So I woke up, and I'm waiting for Christmas now. Because I can't be arsed to use the new calendar, nooo. I have to get on people's nerves.

I'm quite good at it, I'd like to think. There are very few people who have worked on this art and perfected it to such degree. And mostly went unpunished for it, too.
The only one that's better than me in that field is, under no doubt, Prussia. And god, is he good. I wonder how he's doing with Germany. Well, probably better than here, but that's irrelavant.

I wonder if ending the Soviet Union was a good idea. I wonder, will I ever be who I once was? I wonder if the Baltics will come live with me again... I wonder if I'll ever learn to iron properly, half my clothes are burned. Adding the other half, that I burned willingly, because they "looked communist", I have no decent clothes.

What?!

Search me, it sounded logical while I was under enough alcohol to floor a rampaging elephant...

It's not the glory that interests me, or the power. It's not even the company. It's the battlefield that I'm going to miss the most. I'll spend my time withering away, the thousands of warheads I have stockpiled growing useless, my armies ineffectual. I really can't stand the idea... But what can I do.

He won, fair and square. As fair and square a war of deception and economic prowess can be won, anyway...

But he's young. He's forgiving. He's naive, most of all. Yes. NA-IIII-VE. The word just rolls over my lips. All I have to do, is get on my knees, tug on his sleeve, and bat my eyelashes.

And his hero complex will kick in, and he'll show me.

He'll show me how he did it all. He'll show me the weapons he calls capital, and a free market... and... democracy.

Such a weird word. Makes me frown, just to think about it.

And then, I'll just move closer, and pull down those jeans of his, and suck his cock, and he'll leave me alone.

He'll stay out of my business, as long as he sees me... giving in to his charms. Narcissists are easy to manipulate, after all.

That way, I'll keep myself comfortably erased from the map. I'll take his lessons, and twist them... And make them my own. I can't wait... And fuck, does this wall need paint...

My sighs have been a bit too many lately. I'm starting to worry myself. Have I lost my smile too?

No, that's there, that's right there, as always. Good. So all I have lost is my power, my glory, and even my identity. But well, as long as my smile's there, they can be won back.

I can't play on fear anymore. I'm a weak giant, even Italy could floor me right now. It's a good thing that most of the others are too busy kissing America's feet...

I wonder what I could begin with today... I could call America... After I fix this door, it's been creaking so hard, that it might fall...

Okay, where do I keep the oil again... Right, in the kitchen cupboard... That's where the vodka is too. Or rather, what's left of it. You know, screw America, I'll call Finland. He never says no to a drinking invitation, even if it's me. Especially if it's me.

Oh well... You damn door, will you stop- Oh. Great. It broke. Yeah, nice going.

No food in the fridge.... My cheekbones are so thin. So is my waist.

Even Ukraine's gone, and that's a true pity. Just her walking around the house brought a bit more light in. Smiling, and crying, and...making those damn tasty pierogis...

I'll never forgive myself for bringing those two into this. Causing them both so much pain. The rest are useless, but they're not meant for that treatment. And I know, that no matter what both of them say, they'll never forgive me either.

I remember, when she screamed. It wasn't sadness, it wasn't anger, it was just plain pain. I learned how it hurt, firsthand. Wasn't fun at all. Then again, few things are fun... And no, bolting doors into place is not one of them, why do you ask?

Not only that, I have to mop later too... Oh, great. I'm turning into a housewife. A housewife with pink boxers. All I miss is the headcloth. How nice...

Why did the Soviet Union have to end in winter? Except for dramatic effect, of course. Couldn't it have ended in the summer, when I could at least go out, take a look at the garden, and fix my windows without diving into freaking piles of snow?

Once the outside world starts to seem more attractive, I'll go get myself a good fuck... Or maybe not, I'll get something even better, more booze. Now there, that's a good door- Oh nevermind, the handle's fallen off...

Another thing I always bragged about was my luck. I'm probably the luckiest bastard around. Somehow, I just manage to end up in a mess, no matter what I get involved in. What is it in me that people want, anyway? Yes, my lower regions are very much desired, and fertile, and full of resources, I can't deny that. Sometimes, I wish I could conquer myself. See the double entendre? Yeah, it was meant to be there. Maybe I'll go for Finland, sometime. Close enough.

But, modesties aside, I can't see what's so special about me. Everyone just jumps in, with a huge grin, coming in to conquer me. I've grown accostumed to it.. What I haven't got accostumed to is having to make my own pancakes. They always end up so thin!

No, I'm not miserable. I'm perfectly fine, in my big.... breaking down house, wearing my pink underwear, fixing doors and ironing, all alone. Yup. I have no time to be miserable. I have to rise again.

What if I don't ever rise again... And get thinner, and thinner, until I disappear?

I said I'd change, but would it be for the better...?

Hmm... I don't think so. I'll be fine, won't I?

Yes. Yes, no need to worry. Russia will prevail.

Now, where did I put that mop?