This is another of my weird, random, I – don't – own – hetalia fanfics. Hope ya like it!

808

Peter Kirkland, aka Sealand, sat on the floor with his back against the wall, staring silently into nothing. For him, this behaviour was unheard of. Sealand was usually full of energy, and hardly ever stayed still for more than five minutes. But today something was wrong. Sealand was utterly exhausted, and he felt hot, just above comfortable temperature. And it was getting worse.

" E-England...?" Sealand said, trying to get the older nation's attention.

" No, I don't recognise you as a nation now." England replied, before walking away to have a cup of tea.

080

Ten minutes later, England put down his china teacup and book and listened to the sound of silence coming from upstairs. Sealand was up there, and the fact that he wasn't making any noise meant that he was A) asleep, B) dead or C) up to no good. The last of the three seemed the most likely. England dashed upstairs, expecting to find Sealand causing trouble somehow or deviously plotting to take over the world. Instead, England found the micronation in exactly the same position he had left him in. Sealand was still sitting with his back up against the wall, looking right ahead into nothing. England knelt next to Sealand. Sealand's cheeks were flush a fiery red, yet the rest of his face was deathly pale. Heat radiated from the micronation's body and his eyes were glassy.

Bloody hell! England thought. He's on FIRE! Having been through the Great Fire Of London, England knew what being on fire felt like, and it wasn't fun.

808

Sealand hated burning. It was like being trapped inside his mind, unable to move his body but still able to feel what was happening to it. He felt like boiling acid was pouring through his body while molten lead surged through his stomach and intestines. Then it began to feel like needles of white – hot steel were moving through all of him in straight lines, eye to tip. What the micronation was really feeling was his blood beginning to boil. It was torture, but it couldn't kill him. A nation would never die, not as long as somebody remembered that they existed.

080

"Hello, what emergency service do you require?" said the person answering the phone. England had just called 999, and someone had finally answered.

" Fire department." England answered.

" What location?"

" Sealand."

" Where?"

" SEALAND! The Principality!"

" I'm sorry sir, our services only operate within the coastal borders of the united kingdom."

"Try telling that to the twelve – year – old who is cooking alive right now!"

" All right, all right, we'll send some firemen." Then the phone was hung up with a *click*. England glanced over to the bed where Sealand lay. The micronation's eyes were closed, as if he was asleep, but tears poured from beneath the lids like rain, sizzling into steam on Sealand's burning cheeks. Then Sealand's eyes snapped open, and he sat up and began to cough, like he was choking on smoke, thick, dark, suffocating smoke with no breathable air available. When the coughing fit subsided, Sealand flomped back onto his pillow and gave a long, low moan of discomfort.

" I'm diiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeiiiiiing …." The micronation groaned. Truthfully, the fire was being put out and Sealand's condition was improving. Due to the Great Fire Of London, England knew that Sealand wouldn't fully recover until life in the Principality of Sealand returned to normal.

808

Me: There! Sealandic fire ficcy thingymabjingmomber! Whoever reviews gets a virtual cookie!