This is my first public story. I hope you like it. Sadly I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters in it (I wish!). I intend to make you all suffer.
Enjoy the story!
Warning this story may be too intense for some readers. Viewer discretion is advised!
"WHY?!"
The scream echoed through the empty manor. No one heard the sound. No one came running to see if the man laying on the bed, sobbing, was hurt. There was no one but him. No one to comfort him in the depths of his despair. Though from the outside the house looked rich, there was no one inside to tend it. The grass was overgrown, there were no gardeners. The house remained dirty, for the maids had long since left. The kitchen was abandoned and desolate, the cooks having gone long ago. The only room not abandoned was the one in which the man lay absorbed in his grief, almost dead to the world.
He lay there unable to move but for his head. He was not in physical pain, it was sorrow and emotional pain that bound him to his room. Unable to face the emptiness of the rest of his house, or worse the disappointment of his people, he lay still. He got up only to wipe his eyes, his pillow long since drenched with his tears.
"What do I do?" "Who can I trust?" America asked of the squirrel that sat on his windowsill. The squirrel turned his head as if considering him than jumped from his window, only to be snatched up by a hawk. America continued to sob even louder.
After seeing that America got up and started to pace. He then lay back down upon his bed and delved deeper into the depths of his depression. Every so often he would get up and pace the room, seized with the desire to do something desperate to save his country. He cried for days lost in the darkness of his own misery.
He tossed in bed for many nights, or else lay still staring into the dark abyss, trying to find something to hold as he groped for sleep. His dejection was pointless, as well he knew, but he could not help it.
Finally, after his country having been almost split by a grueling election campaign, he found himself tired. Falling into a deep sleep he dreamed heavily.
In his dream Rome appeared. "That which you have feared for so long is upon you my son." said he.
"What does this mean?" asked the distraught nation.
"Since beginning your journey as a country you have fought for your freedom and your rights. Fought against nations who were older, wiser, and some more powerful than you. You have been a country for 237 years, but these last ten years have seen trouble for your country.
"I still don't understand" America replied fearfully.
"I am afraid that your country will be lost."
"NOOOOOOOO!" America woke to find himself screaming in bed, drenched from head to toe in cold sweat, and breathing as though he had run a marathon.
Though America was still sad his dream had shaken him. He could no longer lay down and cry. To do so would mean to give up.
He knew he needed help, but who would help him?
Suggestions for America's love interest please comment :)