Blood slithered off the palm of his hand and dribbled onto the floor, but he never thought to stanch it. No, he did think to stanch the dark, crimson liquid, he just did not want to. On the contrary, he wanted, even longed to feel their pain, to hold it in him, to become it. It was a shame that only so few got out without bearing what the dead ones bore. That they existed when the others did not. While they were fine and the others burned. Who am I? He thought. Who am I but a man full of pain, loss, and no hope?
His fist slammed against the table in front of him, and droplets o flood scattered everywhere. Tears streamed down his face and into his cuts, causing him to scream out in agony. He couldn't do it, he knew he could not. He could never do anything anymore that required bravery. All bravery was lost to him. It all left him after what happened.
It all happened so fast, he said to himself as he sank to his knees. His green uniform was torn and muddy and needed washing, but he ignored it. His clothes had been like that for over a year. His hair was just as bad: no longer was it possible to tell its color was once blond for blood and grime had mixed into it like an un-washable gel.
His eyes flicked up to the shattered mirror sitting in front of him. Cracks snaked all across the imperfect surface and were thickest in the middle where most of the glass was broken and falling. The man's eyes reflected a dozen green emerald shards in the mirror, and he lifted a trembling and bloody finger to the broken surface before bringing it to his own face smack dab between his eyes.
Then the thought returned, Who am I? But this time he answered it out loud. "I am England," he whispered, then shouted, "I am England, not the bloody United Kingdom!" The man, England, glared about the room as he picked up a rumpled stack of papers and hobbled over to a moth eaten chair to read them.
A/N: I have begun another fan fiction, but this time, it has been completed before I started posting it. This is not intended to be happy or a fanfic without death. I warn you that many people die. Oh, and I do not own hetalia!