A/N: Welcome to my first (totally non-canon) Hetalia fanfiction! I learned about Hetalia from a couple of my friends who would not stop talking about it when they were around me. Those two are the ones who I need to thank; they refer to themselves as Russia and Prussia (no, they are not twins), and after I learned about the strange wonderfulness that is Hetalia, I was inspired to become Yugoslavia. Thanks guys! You two are awesome people. (And by the way, I have only watched the first 2 seasons – as of now I should be past episode 50 – so I don't know everything about Hetalia. Please don't start hating on me if I mess something up.)

Yugoslavia – a Hetalia Fanfiction

Even I can not understand the horrors in which I have narrowly escaped.

Who am I? Well, I could be a great many people. I could be any single one of the people who have been taken away from their homeland, or have been trapped in a place in which they can not escape from, or have been hurt by a force you can not control. I am the personification of every man, woman, and child who has ever walked this earth and had to suffer through the hardships of war.

But for now, you can just call me Ćerima Zivkovic.

As of now, I am a prisoner of war somewhere within German territory, but I do not know exactly where. It is hard being a prisoner of war, especially when you have been captured by someone as fierce as Germany and have no one to rescue you. You see, I am from the large but often ignored nation of Yugoslavia, a wonderful country nestled between Italy and Greece on the Adriatic Sea. With our neutral status, we don't often find the need to fight against anyone, even people within our own country. This war – World War II, as I have heard it being called – changed all of that. It was the first week of April when it had all started. I was taking a holiday in a small border town at the time, and I had caught word of Germany walking around Yugoslavia's northern border, scanning the countryside as if spying out a potential new territory. But before anyone said anything to him, he simply walked away, without saying a word. The next day I saw him with my own eyes – walking slowly past, staring right at me, giving me a glare so sharp that I flinched a little at the sight of it. I do not understand why he had done that, since I have no recollection of a disagreement or anything like it between our countries. Just like the day before, however, he turned on his heel and walked away to the north, disappearing over a nearby ridge. I had decided to return the day after that, on the 6th of April, to see if he would come again.

That was my bad decision.

If I had left my curiosity behind me, I would not have gotten myself into so much trouble. The 6th of April was the day when Germany decided to invade – only three days into my holiday. I still don't know exactly how he did it; all I remember was seeing him followed by an uncountable number of German soldiers, and maybe a few Italian and Japanese ones as well. The next thing I know they were swarming the streets of the quaint little town, barging into homes and shops, wreaking havoc on the peaceful townspeople. Somehow I was picked out of the crowd and captured; the only thing I could do was go with the soldiers and pray that I would not get hurt too badly. I looked back at the town before they took me away, and I saw several soldiers replacing our beautiful Yugoslav tricolor with their own f

-x-

Ćerima suddenly stopped writing and stared at the scrap of paper and the old fountain pen in her hand. "You can't stop now," she quietly scolded it, shaking the black cylinder slightly to pull any remaining ink out of the tip. "I'm in the middle of a sentence! I can't afford for you to stop!" Despite her words, the pen refused to let go of any more of its ink and sat idly while she scratched at the paper before being set on the ground with a sigh. "You are pointless," she whispered, making one last comment to the pen before tossing it bitterly behind her and looking up from her work.

She was sitting on the dirty wooden floor of a large, old house somewhere inside of Germany, where she had been eating, sleeping, and worrying for the past three days – mostly worrying. Glancing around at the plain brick walls and the sheetless mattress laying on the floor beside her, she didn't really know where she was, how she had gotten there, or even how long it had been since she had last seen the sun. If she was back at her home, she would have looked out the window, and then gone to a nearby restaurant for supper, lunch, or breakfast, depending on what time it was. But there were no windows in this tiny room in this huge house, and the only exit – the solid wooden door at the end of the corridor outside of the room – was securely locked.

Letting out another sigh of despair, Ćerima sat up on the edge of the mattress, wincing at the sound of old springs creaking underneath her. She took another look at the paper scrap in her hands, then crushed it, stuffing the small paper ball into the pocket of her jacket. …No, she thought to herself. This is not my jacket. This is a jacket. She removed the article of clothing from around her shoulders and held it in front of her. It was a German military jacket, an olive-green one with shoulder marks on the sleeves and a row of matching buttons running down the front, which she had managed to find within a crate in one of the neighboring rooms to her own, along with other clothes that all seemed a size to large for her. They had to do for the time being, though. Even though she was a prisoner of war, she didn't have the option to let her captors feed or clothe her – she was alone once again, but this time she didn't like it.

She lay back against the hard metal spring of the mattress and stared up at the cobweb-ridden ceiling with tired blue-green eyes. Her hair, once tied back in a simple braid, was coming loose and hung over her eyes in dirty dark blonde wisps. Her stomach growled in sorrow, matching her current mood. No one is coming, she concluded pessimistically, turning over so that her shoulder pressed into the mattress and she faced one of the walls. No one will know what happened. No one will know where I am, or who I am, or what had happened to me. I will just be gone, a single insignificant person lost off of the face of the earth. Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy, despite the cold of what she presumed was night leaking in through the bricks in the walls. She drifted off to a single thought.

I'm gone.