February 25, 1947

I'd like you to stop for a second and open up your mind to the impossible.

The world is made up of many different countries. Each country has a history with other countries, their own history, their own politics, currency, traditions, songs, people, racial backgrounds, etc. This makes them what the are, and brings a sense of nationalism among them and their people. Stand together by the people and for the people.

We think about the way the countries affect the people, but what about the affects they have on the countries?

Take that clean slate of a mind and imagine that these countries, these rich, widely developed histories, are seen and told through the eyes of a person. Not just any person, but several young men and women who have the duty of caring for a whole country with no recognition whatsoever to the choices and sacrifices they make.

They know of the outside world, for they live in it. Average citizens of the Earth, they seem to be, just traipsing by. In their reality, they experience the loss of an ally. The fear of creating an enemy. The heartbreak of losing someone extremely close to them.

What would happen if all of the world's power was in the hand of several twenty year olds?

They fight, they make up, they become friends, they fall in love, and they fight all over again. It's the way the world works. It's the way they were born to work.

Sometimes, though, there can be a lot of fighting. Occasionally, the entire world is at war.

Bring on the hellfire.

Elizaveta couldn't have been any more thankful that Spring was arriving early. Her economy depended on the sale of crops, and she was thankful that the farms could start planting earlier and get their crops out before anyone else.

Humming to herself, she picked up the hem of her dress and continued along the way, watching the early rising farmers getting set for the day's work.

Eliza wasn't just walking around this early for the heck of it. No, she had plans for today. Gilbert was going to come around for a hunting trip.

She loved archery. It was such a technical process that you had to master it, so the thrill of releasing the arrow and hitting the target was more satisfactory than any rifle.

Checking her watch, she frowned. Gilbert was late. That was no surprise, though, the boy was constantly in trouble and forgetting things. He had once shown up four hours late, complaining that he was hungry.

Sighing, Eliza sat down on a barrel of hay and decided to wait thirty minutes. If he didn't show up by then, she was going home.

Thirty minutes ticked by, and Eliza was beginning to get extremely pissed.

Damn him, thinking he can create his own schedule, she thought angrily to herself, heading back down the trail. Waste of time.

She waved hello to the people she passed, putting a cheery smile on her face. It took all her effort to not kick over a barn on her way.

Eliza was a morning person, the atmosphere was more pleasant than night, and everything was so much quieter so you could hear the birds chirping their wake up songs as you took a long walk along the perfectly lit walkways.

Yes, everything was perfect. Perfect for hunting.

This just ruined the whole day, she thought bitterly. Funny how much things can change.

She didn't even know where she was walking, but she knew she now had the whole day to waste on nothing since there was now a completely clear schedule ahead of her. Every meeting for the day had been rescheduled for this day.

Eliza knew of a small place where she used to hide when she was young. It still had her supply to keep her comfortable, and she could escape from the mayhem of the city there, only a short walk ahead. Ten minutes, tops.

You couldn't frown for long this early, no matter how difficult your start to the day was. It was the magic of the countryside of Hungary. Yes, Eliza was proud of her people.

The door was opened slightly, creaking the rest of the way open due to ages of not being opened. The dust caused her to cough, shielding her eyes from the light pouring through the broken windows.

Sighing, Eliza walked inside, preparing to stretch out for a lazy Saturday. Instead, she heard the sound of a dry, hacking cough from somewhere inside.

Immediately, as a reflex, she pulled out her handheld rifle, loaded and ready, just in case. "Who's there?"

The only response was a cough, feebler this time. Keeping close to the wall, she walked deeper into the barn, trying to locate the person inside. "Hello?"

"E-eliza?"

This person knew her. "Who are you?"

"It's- it's-"

The voice faded out, hacking and what sounded like gurgling.

Eliza found the mysterious stranger in the middle of the barn, spread out on the floor. It was Gilbert, but she wouldn't have recognized him. She couldn't see his face, but he was hunched over, surrounded by a pile of blood that looked like it had been thrown up in splotches scattered across the wood and hay.

"Gilbert, what-"

He turned around, sticking his hand out to stop her. Normally, Eliza would've never listened, but his eyes stopped her. The normally violet shade had turned to a brilliant red, like they had been completely bloodshot.

Running over, he fell to the ground, choking on blood clogging his throat. She immediately flipped him over, and he spit it all out onto the floor.

"Gilbert, who did this to you?" she asked, astonished. "No, sh, don't talk!"

She ripped off the hem of her dress, using it as a cloth to wipe off the blood trickling down his neck and an open wound on his chest.

"This is going to hurt, but it stops the bleeding," she said, reassuring him. Then, she pressed down, hard, onto the cut.

He let out a shriek, but bit his lips back to stop.

Eliza didn't know what else to do, but she had to stay, or else Gilbert would bleed out. There was no hospital close enough to transfer him to.

"Now tell me. What happened?"

Gilbert opened one of his unusually bloodshot eyes. "Let go of me."

Eliza unwillingly stopped applying pressure to the wound.

"Nobody did this to me. Technically, they did, but that was so long ago."

"What are you rambling on about?" she interrupted.

He chuckled, but it turned into a cough. "I'm talking about nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Yes it is."

"It's not, you're bleeding out."

"This happens every year, and-"

"Every year? How are you still alive?"

"I'm not!"

Eliza stared at him, and Gilbert looked away hurriedly.

"February 25, 1947."

"Pardon me?"

"That's the day I died."

Eliza refused to believe it, shaking her head nervously. "That's nonsense. You're right here."

"Yes I am, but that doesn't mean I'm not dead. Every year on this date, I get reminded of the fact that I'm not supposed to exist. They signed off my death after the war, but as long as people still have Prussian blood in their veins, I continue to exist. I am seen as a country, even though I am not a person."

Unwanted tears formed on the corner of Eliza's eyes. "What you mean is-"

"I don't exist."