One of Russia's most vivid memories was of the first time he saw sunflowers.
It was one of those nights where you would most likely freeze to death if you walked outside wearing less than four layers of heavy clothing. As such, Russia was nestled in bed under a mound of thick blankets. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he continued wishing for the silence to end. He slipped out of bed, carrying his pillow with him, and wandered into the living room. There, sitting on the old brown sofa, was his big sister Ukraine.
"Sis?" Russia whimpered.
Ukraine looked up from her book. "What's the matter, Russia? Why are you not sleeping?"
"I can't", the boy answered quietly as he wiped some of his tears from one eye.
"Aww, my poor little brother. Please don't cry." She beckoned for him to come over to her.
Russia wrapped his arms around Ukraine's middle and sniffled some more.
The silver-haired girl rubbed her brother's back. "Shhh. There there; I know how sad it can be. It's true that there are many bad things in this world. But there are wonderful things as well." She picked her book back up and opened it. She it so that she and her baby brother could both see it. "See?" It was filled with glossy pictures of all manner of flowers.
Russia rested his head on Ukraine's shoulder and gazed at the images, his tears starting to dry.
Ukraine smiled softly as she turned the page. "These are my favorite", she said, pointing to a picture of a field of tall flowers with petels of the brightest yellow standing against a pale blue sky.
Russia was left almost breathless by how beautiful they were. They seemed to epitomize happiness and hope, things which the small boy had often dreamed of. "What are they called, Sis?"
"Sunflowers", Ukraine whispered, a wistful expression on her face.
After a few minutes, Russia spoke again. "Do you think we could go someplace with lots of sunflowers for real someday?"
Ukraine kissed Russia gently on the top of his head. "I would like that very much."
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It had been many years since that night. Russia sat in a beaten up armchair, staring at the wall in front of him. He was alone. Ukraine had left a long time ago, tears filling her eyes. When she was running away, Russia felt like he was still a little boy, helpless and sad. Everyone left Russia eventually. Now it was just him and the silence.
With nothing else to do, he went down to the basement just to look around. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw them: Some old cans of paint sitting in a wooden box covered with cobwebs.
He carried the box up to his room, which was empty except for his bed, and got to work. By the time he was finished, it was the next morning. He smiled to himself a little before sitting down on the hard floor and gazed at what he had created.
There, on the previously blank wall, was a field sunflowers, exactally like the ones he'd seen in Ukraine's book. He sighed. Ukraine wasn't there to see them. No one besides Russia was there to experience this beauty. Russia had no one. But at least the sunflowers would never leave him.
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