(A/N: I haven't written for Hetalia in a while. This story is purposely choppy. The end is open to interpretation. I don't own Hetalia.)
He was relatively okay with never seeing his parents again. They didn't care about him, so why should he care about them? Did they miss him? Probably not. Did he miss them? Nope. Maybe just a little. Even though he wasn't on good terms with them, they were his parents. He had known them his whole life. Even if he hadn't wanted to know them.
He was also okay with the beatings. He could take them. He was past the point of caring. The physical pain didn't bother him anymore.
He was not okay with the fighting, though. The murdering of people his own age. Sometimes they were younger than him. Sometimes they were little girls.
Every single day was the same. Get three hours of restless sleep, get some sucky breakfast which was only designed to make sure he didn't fall over dead, either fight somebody or get beaten up, eat a sucky dinner, then time to sleep and begin the cycle all over again.
Maybe he wouldn't have to fight today. Maybe they would forget about him. Maybe he could just sleep the whole day away. Maybe he'd have to strangle somebody with his bare hands.
He had seen some of the other kids who had become desensitized to killing. He would never be able to get used to it though. Watching the light go out of their eyes. Knowing he had done it. Getting praised for it. The desensitized ones were scary. They were so callous and cold. They were robots. Killing on command.
Some of the kids who were good at killing got more food. They got weapons. They were favored, and got good treatment.
Maybe his parents regretted not being nicer to him. The only person he knew who missed him was his sister. She must've been broken up when he ran away. He really didn't care though. Maybe he was already a robot.
"Up, you got a match today."
He slowly got out of the cot. "Where's my food?"
"You don't get any."
Joy. And he meant that in the most sarcastic way possible. Maybe his opponent would kill him. Maybe he would finally be free.
He waited for the man to open the door, and he exited. Today was the day. He could feel it. The day he was going to die. He hadn't ever had any particularly hard opponents. Most were pretty easy. Especially when they made him kill girls. Most of them had already given up on life. They would look at him with big eyes, and plead with their eyes for him to kill them. He always granted their request. He had never refused to fight. Others had though. They would disappear for a couple of days, before coming back, missing an arm or a leg. Then they'd just get thrown back in the ring.
He wouldn't have been able to handle getting a limb cut off. He still held a little hope in life. Maybe if he killed a bunch of people, then they'd release him. He had heard of some guy getting released after he had taken on ten guys.
He wanted to get back to his sister. He could see her in every female opponent he had. Green eyes like hers. Dirty blonde hair like hers. A small body frame like hers. Sometimes he had even thought that he was killing his sister. His adversary would morph into her, and he would pause before telling himself that it wasn't her, and then killing her.
"In." The man held open the door to the room with the balcony seats so people could watch.
In the middle of the arena stood a young girl. She turned towards them as soon as they came in. He nearly choked as soon as he saw her. She looked so much like his little sister. His heart clenched, and his body went rigid.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Poor thing was probably nervous.
The man closed the door, and it was just him and her. She began to hyperventilate as the lights were dimmed, and he moved closer to her.
He circled her, astonished at how much she looked like his sister. He had to tell himself that it wasn't her. His mind was playing tricks on him. It wasn't her.
The hair was too short. His sister had long braids. She was too skinny. His sister had always had enough to eat. The ribs were sticking out. The green eyes were dull and glassy. She looked like if he even touched her, she would break. She opened her mouth again, but only this horrible noise came out. He realized with a start that her tongue had been cut out.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She must've known she was about to die. She brought her hand up to rub at her eyes, and that was when he pounced.
He jumped on her, and her head hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood stained the top of Lilli's... No... The girl's head. It wasn't his sister. It wasn't her. He wrapped his thin fingers around her neck. He began to squeeze.
Her eyes stared up at him, the tears running down the side of her face. She opened her mouth again, and he could see the stump where her tongue had been. She must've talked back, something his little sister wouldn't have done. She was so quiet. It wasn't her.
His grip went slack as the resemblance became too much. He had lifted her head up a little, but he dropped her neck, and her head hit the ground again.
She gasped in a breath. And then another. And another. Her small, pale hand reached for him, before falling back. She closed her eyes, as if accepting her fate. She coughed, and another tear slipped down her face.
He was straddling her stomach, and all he had to do was lean forward again, and slam her head into the ground once more. He put his thumbs into the hollow of her throat, and pressed down.
Her hands shot up, and grabbed his wrists. She stared at him, with those big, somber eyes, and she smiled at him. He was so shocked that he couldn't move. She stopped breathing, her eyes fluttering closed.
He jumped off of her, trying to get the image of those eyes out of his head. She looked so much like his sister, that it hurt. But it wasn't her. His sister was at home. It was impossible for her to be there. He only gave the blonde girl one last look, before going out the door, which had been opened as soon as she died.
The police raided the place a few days later. He was taken to a police station. He was told to wait. His family would be coming. They had been so worried about him. The door opened, and only two people walked in.