The shaky inhales and exhales were the only things heard as he was crouched down on the tiled floor of the dark kitchen. Everything else was completely silent. Appliances did not pop or spark. Clocks did not tick. Rain did not make a sound as it hit the windows of the house. Only his breaths were heard. Nothing else made a sound. This was both comforting and frightening to the young man.
Knife clutched in his hand, he held it tight enough for his knuckles to turn stark white. Body trembled as he lifted it to eye level, examining the blade. Brown locks created a curtain over his eyes, making it difficult to view every detail of the weapon. Was it a weapon? If so, he wanted to be it's sheath.
His lips twitched, then curled into an insane grin, laughter escaping his throat. Teeth were clenched as the male lowered the dagger to his wrist, rolling up long silky sleeves. White milky skin was revealed, completely flawless. Begging to be defiled. And he would do that, oh he would do that.
"England…" he croaked, giggling as he began to carve his name into the soft skin. Hong Kong. "E-England…Arthur…I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you…I hate you so much…" he chanted, staring at his bleeding arm as he made his name apart of him. Blood dripped down his forearm to his wrist, down his palm, and dripping off his fingertips. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking the blood that fell. Oh dear lord, that taste…it drove him insane. Feeling the blood continue to run out of his open skin, he wanted more. He needed more.
Shakily, Hong Kong got to his feet, giggles continuously leaving his mouth as he staggered over to the nearest wall. He cupped his hand and placed it against his forearm, letting blood pool in his hand. As if he was finger painting, he dipped his bloody fingers in the cupped bloody, beginning to smear it on the walls, ruining the beautiful pattern on the wallpaper.
"I hate you…I hate you so damn much…" he mumbled, the bloody marks eventually forming the word 'England'. Hong Kong stared at the word, his eyes glowing with hatred. Roaring with rage, he slammed his bloody hand on the 'l' and 'a' of the name, leaving a red hand print.
"F-Fucking opium…" he hissed, shaking his head, his messy, shaggy hair shaking with him. "Imperialism…you damn English bastard…go burn in hell…you ruined everything…you ruined China…h-he never was the same after what you've done to him…s-smoking opium like there's no tomorrow…everyday he seems to get high, even now! It's all your fault!" he slammed his hand on the 'n' and 'd', smudging it slightly.
"Y-You stole me from my home…shoved me in Western Culture…European ways…I hated it! I hated it all!" he screamed, staggering backwards to admire his work. Heavy drops of the liquid of life dripped down the walls, two large handprints on the name of the man he hated so. It was legible, but barely.
Hong Kong's expression faded to his usual monotone one, turning his head to the opposite wall, untouched. The arm with his name on it fell numb, yet he didn't feel any pain at all. That was good, that was good. All of the blood, all of the pain, was leaving him. More. He needed more.
The Asian furrowed his caterpillar like brows, trudging towards that side of the kitchen, bloody footprints marking the path he took, red splatters decorating and bordering it. Hong Kong, that was his name. His name…his name…his name. A snarl left his lips as he thought, what if when people heard his name, they only thought of a weakened, corrupted boy? A boy messed up by the opium war, raised by two completely different countries? Is that what people thought of him? These thoughts made his anger boil even more.
Taking the knife drenched by his crimson liquid, he placed it to his other forearm, ripping off the red sleeve first. Placing the blade on his skin, blood immediately leaked out from the slightly sliced flesh. That grin made it's way on his face again, beginning now to write out a different name. Oh, how he loved this name…of course, the owner of this name didn't know of these feelings, and likely never would. He began to laugh insanely as he finished writing 'South Korea' into his flesh, watching more blood ooze out and stain the tiled floor.
"…I love you…I love you…I love you…" he whispered as he licked up the blood that fell. "I love you so damn much…s-so much more than…than…than…" he paused, his tongue pressed against the 'K', blood tinting his tongue a dark red. "…than China…"
Immediately, Hong Kong withdrew his tongue back into the den of his mouth, a trail of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicked out to lick it up, running his hand along the cuts he had recently made. When his hand was completely coated with the blood, he wrote out China's name, just as he had with England.
"You let England take me…" Hong Kong whimpered as he finished writing his name, letting his hand run down the wall, making a long streak of red. "You were so damn concerned about your damn opium…your attempt at protecting me was…pathetic. You could've saved me…right? B-But no…no…you let him take me! B-Bastard!"
Hong Kong roared, weakly slamming his hand on the 'i' of China. The large amount of blood loss was making him weak. So weak…no one cared for him anymore, right? What about his precious South Korea? So bubbly…so fun…so full of emotion…he loved him so. South Korea. South Korea. South Korea. That name was like music in his ears.
'South Korea, rescue me. Rescue me!' Hong Kong kept screaming in his mind. 'I need you to rescue me! I'm killing myself…for you. For you…please, rescue me. I need your guidance…I need your emotions, I need them so badly. Rescue me South Korea…I love you.'
As everything began to blacken, Hong Kong's laughter echoed off the bloodied walls of the kitchen, the names of the countries he hated so becoming distorted, images of his Korean flashing before his eyes.