I wrote this in a Facebook status window.
Don't own Hetalia.
Lonely.
He was lonely. Skin glistened with transparency as sunlight poured onto it, having crept through a crack in the heavy curtains. Dust stirred as the thick piece of cloth was moved, and he coughed. It took all he had to pull the curtain fully over the window, but once he did the sun was instantly blocked out and the room became dark once more.
He curled back down onto the cold cement floor, eyes looking without seeing. He would have been crying if there had been moisture left in his body. Frail, blonde hair - once soft - splayed out like seaweed in the tide. He took in a shattered breath.
Countries. Strong, but weak. The voice of the people, with a voice of their own. Contradictory.
He smiled dryly in his mind, muscles failing to do so physically. Countries could never kill themselves. Images of all his own attempts to do so flashed before his eyes. Attempts that ended in failure. He coughed.
It was all up to the people. If they wanted him dead they could make it so in an instant. If other people from other countries wished so, all it took was a war. An attack. Opportunity.
And look where it all brought him. Them.
He could hear the screams in his head as they rang through his ears. His skin had burned like it was on fire in the beginning. When he'd had the strength to fight back, he did so, but only received more pain as his prize. His lungs had pierced themselves with holes and flecks of blood emerged from his innards when he coughed. He'd stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped going outside. His skin became near translucent, and even the sunlight had started to cause him discomfort.
Now, he lay loosely on the floor, motionless. Chest moving slightly as he breathed, he tasted iron. Blood from his lungs had collected and converged on one side of his mouth, and had pooled so heavily that it had overflowed, a thin line of crimson slithering down his skin and dripping to the ground.
Vessels were easily seen throughout his clear epidermis, and they pumped slowly, snaking liquid red through him at a staggered pace.
The lump in his chest ached with every beat.
It began to slow.
Violet eyes flickered around the room, absorbing the darkened scenery, the quiet air.
Beat.
He yearned for his brother.
...Beat.
He thought about the sun, and the sky. He thought about the ocean. He remembered his family. For an instant, he remembered love. He was suddenly glad that his sibling wasn't here to see him like this.
Broken.
...Be...at...
The aged curtain sagged under its own weight, and a sliver of sunlight forced it's way through. It pierced the blackness by his feet, sending heat and pain through his body.
It was so... bright.
His hand shakily reached towards it as if it were something solid to grab hold of. Violet eyes were locked on that ray.
He felt fear.
...B...e...a...t...
He touched the sun.
...b...e...
Matthew died alone.