1
Romano tossed and turned restlessly under the sheets. Sweat poured from his forehead and his little face crumpled in pain. The same agonising wrench inside his stomach returned for another night. This was a month now, that this horrid feeling had visited him. The best way to describe the pain the small boy felt is like this. It was as if all the muscles inside his stomach had joined together to make a fleshy, internal fist that clenched its hand tightly on his tissues and was twisting its grip from side to side violently. A dry gag forced it's way out of his throat. Romano curled himself up into a tight ball, fat tears clinging to his eyelashes. He gritted his teeth to stop another hideous noise escaping from his mouth. Another wrench of the internal fist and Romano nuzzled his head deep into the bed, wrapping both arms tightly around his waist. What was this damned pain? And why was it always affecting him more and more recently? Before he could even consider these questions, another wave of pain knocked all sense out of the boy and his head flopped back on the pillow, tears rolling down his cheeks.
2
Romano sat around a desk of 7 other men, 2 of which he'd never seen before. Britain, introduced them as Spain and the Holy Roman Empire-France, Hungary, Prussia, Austria and the Roman Empire, he was already acquaintanced with.
"Mr. Britain sir, what is all this about?" Romano blinked, confused. Britain glanced down for a moment before walking over and kneeling before the small boy.
"Italy...these symptoms you've been having over the last month or so...we're able to diagnose the problem. You're splitting."
"Huh?"
"It's difficult to explain." Britain began, trying to avoid being blunt with such an innocent, sweet child. "You see, it's very rare, but sometimes, Countries actually divide. No one knows why but the symptoms you've described to me recently confirmed my doubts." The child let out a whimper and tears began to form in his eyes.
"I'm frightened, Britain!" he squeaked. Britain opened his arms. Romano leapt from his seat and clung to the man's chest, hugging it tightly. "I don't want to be split in half!" Britain smiled.
"Shh..." he soothed, smoothing a hand down the boy's auburn hair. "You have nothing to worry about, Italy. When you split, it means there'll be no more of those nasty pains you've been feeling. Don't you want to get rid of that?" The boy nodded, his head buried in Britain's shoulder. "Also, if it's land your concerned about, there'll be no trouble either. You'll find, within a couple of days, the part of you that splits just dies off."
"Dies off?" Romano echoed, drawing himself away from Britain.
"Without some kind of initial life support, a country can't exist. We nations were all born naturally and properly, but when a country-or in this case, part of the country-is born off of another's life, it has no way of even living."
"I don't understand."
"As in, when we're born, we're given vital organs so we can carry out vital tasks essential to our survival. So when you divide, Italy, the person who you'll see will only live for no more than a few days because it has no organs of it's own. It will run off of your's for a short amount of time before there is no energy left inside and it will simply disappear. It will be as if nothing ever happened. Just pull through this, OK?' Britain stood up. Romano nodded and forced a smile, dread silently filling inside him.
3
A few days passed before one night, Romano awoke with a start and could feel the time had finally come. His whole body was tingling. Alarm bells rang in his ears, warning him something terrible was going to happen. A dark sensation washed over him just as the familiar wrench of the stomach took it's action. Romano shook his head and endured the nauseous internal storm. Suddenly, the fleshy fist he imagined was twisting his tissues from side to side, suddenly yanked down, ripping through every muscle. The boy shot upright and let out an agonising scream, doubling over front ways. He howled in a faltered and broken tone as he vividly pictured images of his own blood spilling freely through his gut. Was this death? Was he dying? The boy could not breathe. It was as if the fleshy fist had penetrated through his skin and now held a tight grip on his neck. The stagnant air around him suffocated his tiny lungs. The boy spluttered and choked as if he drowning in a vast ocean. He supposed it may as well have been like that-no one could hear him, nor could they help him. Grandpa Rome slept all the way down the corridor. If he died tonight, no one would know until the morning, at the very least. Fat tears rolled simultaneously down his flushed cheeks as finally, with one last, sharp inhalation of breath, Romano let out a sharp cry and tumbled off the bed, his head smacking against the cold, stone wall.
A/N:Let it begin! What will await poor Romano when he awakes? Will he awake? All will be revealed (mebe) in the next chapter! So stay tuned...