This is for the victims who died on July 22nd, 2011 in Norway. I don't know what prompted me to write this - every devastating story is painful to hear about, from 9/11 to the tsunami in Japan to the earthquake in Haiti - but I felt a need to, and I can't really explain why. So I guess that this story belongs to every victims who has ever suffered in a circumstance like this, from something planned to a natural disaster. We can never really forget these stories, and we cannot know the suffering, but as best as I could, I tried to express all I could in words.

Please bear with the story; I hope it's alright.

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

The small flame glimmers in the dark, flickering gently underneath the starlight. A figure kneels before the mass of flowers, face hidden in his hands as tears fall from lavender eyes. Scarlet blooms across his shirt like ruby flowers; blood trickles down his face, stains his fingers, pools on the ground underneath him. His body is shaking as he suppresses silent sobs, painfully loud in his pounding head.

He reaches forwards with a trembling hand, only to collapse onto his hands and knees, his eyes wide, unseeing and yet seeing as it replayed in his head, over and over and over again. So many lost, so many dead. How many? Too many.

Tears spill over his cheeks, drip off the curve of his chin. His expression is set in one of great anguish and utter shock - and yet, how could one not grieve after the events that had played forth today? He shakes his head back and forth, his pale hair hitting the sides of his face as droplets of his blood hit the ground, streaking crimson across the white blossoms of a rose.

But still, the small flame continues to dance and skip before him, a tiny beacon of light - so small and yet so grand - in the nighttime, beckoning all those who were lost back home.

Gunshots are fired; the blast of a bomb rings throughout the area, deafeningly loud. Fire flares upwards - a burning pyre - as smoke engulfs the building in dark hands. People, young adults, are running back and forth, fleeing, as the chaos ensues, like an orchestrated dance of destruction. Some are shot down in an untimely murder; others jump into the waters, only to find Death waiting before them, its arms open in morbid welcoming.

The waters turn red, spreading outwards - a plume of crimson, horrifically beautiful.

The building crumbles; people fall to the ground, covering their heads as debris rains down from above.

Screams overwhelm the gunshots, overwhelm the crackle of the flames; they shatter the silence. A thousand voices - of terror, of fear, of rage, of anguish, and of sorrow - are contained in one. People silently pray to the heavens, only to be cast away by a blind eye.

A blank gaze stares upwards at a sky of pale duck blue - peaceful. A single tear slides down a cold cheek. A limp hand falls to the soft grass, stained red.

"Help."

Pain. That's all I felt. It was endless. It was nothing, but it was everything.

Make it stop.

Red and black slashed through my vision; I could not breath nor speak. But I could still hear - I heard the rhythmic blast of gunfire, and voices… so many voices. They sobbed, screamed… Anguish and terror filled the air, thick on my tongue; it surrounded me like a wall, closing in tighter, tighter…

Time was endless. I waited those slow seconds until death would finally consume me. I was not afraid; I could not wish for anything more.

Spiraling… Higher, higher. It was infinite.

Please, make it stop.

Finally, blackness enfolds around me, and I fall, tumbling through the abyss, free-falling into the arms of Death.

He can see it all; feel it all. The fear and the panic; the turmoil and the disarray. A phantom pain rips through him; it's like the bullets are embedding themselves in his skin, digging deeper, deeper. He can practically feel the debris as it fell past him - the thick cloud of dust; the fragments of the building raining downwards. A gasp leaves his parted lips; his hand flies for his belly as he resists the urge to vomit. Tilting his head upwards, he feels the tears beginning to pool behind his closed lids as he attempts to block out the images that have already been ingrained in his mind.

The bodies thud to the ground - dozens of youth; those who had never lived their lives to the fullest have suddenly disappeared. Dreams are crushed, hopes and aspirations gone. Others sprint for the waters, attempt to swim away. Blood spreads across the grounds; like a emerald-and-ruby mural.

Across town, the explosion is deafening, thunderous and roaring as it shook the grounds and heavens. Glass splinters; the stone cracks. People drop to the ground as a car is hurled through the air. Inside the building, the flames are burning hotter and hotter; some people attempt to douse the fire while others attempt to escape. Under their feet, the broken glass cracks and shatters.

The mayhem ensues as screams fill the sky; terror, so much terror…

His heart shattered; like a glass vase breaking apart, it splintered to a million pieces.

A hazy mist surrounds me. I wander around, going nowhere, somewhere, everywhere. I feel as though I'm going around in an endless circle; round, round, round I go, never to reach my destination. Anger trembles through me; am I mad that I'm not going anywhere, or the fact that I'm losing myself somewhere? But I'm terrified as well. Where am I? Where is everyone?

Pain enfolds me, endless. Darkness pulled me under, grabbing at me, choking me. I fought against it, frightened. I needed to escape; I needed to be safe. I wasn't safe. Where am I?

A voice whispers to me. I cannot distinguish the words; they're a muddle of sounds that repeat themselves over and over again. They're constantly hanging over me, never disappearing, always there.

"Please… please… please…"

There's a light in the distance, but I'm afraid. I'm compelled to go towards it - every cell in my body pulls me forwards as it beckons me, calls for me. I take a hesitant step forwards; the light flashes brighter, purer.

"Come…"

Another step. Slowly, my fear begins to melt away. I have found myself on the right track. My feet begin to pick up speed - soon, I find myself running. The grasp the shadows had on me loosened. Pain becomes sharper, but its receding. Why? I sprint forwards; the light is startlingly brilliant.

My eyes open, flickering for a moment. The whiteness is blinding. White-hot pain explodes through me, and then…

The heart monitor flat lines.

He feels the grief suddenly overwhelm him; a ceaseless tide of suffering and torment. It strangles him as he lets out a sob, the sound heaving from his throat as his chest constricts. His hands fist the material of his shirt as he struggles to stay sane; he's balancing precariously on the edge of oblivion and perception.

He stumbles forwards; collapses to the ground. Staring out, he sees the silent vigil of flowers - a mass of colorful petals against the black of night. His body shakes as he feels more sobs rise from his chest. His hands hit the stone ground as he feels his tears pour ceaselessly from his eyes, wide in his anguish.

So many lost, so many gone. So many families, without a son or daughter, husband or wife, mother or father. So much sorrow, so much agony. The callous intrusion on a nation once so peaceful.

But why, he could only ask. Why?

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, but he doesn't turn to see who it is - he doesn't care, simply enough. With an embrace so tender, he feels arms wrap around his waist as a warm body is pressed into his backside. Turning his head slightly to the side, he sees the silvered hair of his brother catch underneath the moonlight. Iceland?

A figure moves to kneel before him. A pair of fingers tip his chin upwards, and he meets the familiar gaze of Denmark. All conceit is gone in the young man's eyes, replaced only with sadness.

"If you are suffering, then show us. Let us all feel your pain and your sorrow," Denmark murmurs, his voice soft. "If you are mourning, then let us mourn with you. If you cry, then we shall cry too. If you grieve, so will we."

His mouth parts slightly as more tears fall from his eyes. He is helped up by Denmark, he staggers slightly as he leans heavily against the bigger man's body. Turning, he utters a small gasp as he sees the eyes of so many staring back at him, bringing with them grief but comfort and hope as well; they brought with them respect for those lost, and the respect for those who stood strong during this terrible time. He recognized the faces of his friends and family, Iceland, Sweden, and Finland; recognized the faces of those from far and from near, like England and Poland, Japan and America.

A small figure steps by him - he distinguishes it to be Japan's youngest sister, Okinawa, a small island off the coast of Kyushu. In her hands is a candle, already lit, to replace those that had already burnt out. Kneeling before the pile of flowers, she presses a single kiss to the wax surface, before placing it down with the utmost care. At the simple gesture, he felt his heart swell with feeling; the tears continued to fall harder, faster. His hands fisted the shirt of Denmark as he fought against the conflicting emotions.

"Although we cannot feel the burden you feel right now, know that we will stay by your side. So don't face this alone, Norway," Denmark continued, his voice quiet. "Face it with the world - we're all here."

The world is in silence as we mourn the lives of those lost on July 22nd, 2011. We are in shock that such terror has gripped such a peaceful nation, and we can only ask, why them? Why there? But we must question why this would happen anywhere - in the United States, in Britain, in Norway, wherever - why? Why does this happen? We cannot fathom, however, why this would happen, for the human mind is so vastly perplexing and mystifying that we stay blind to our surroundings.

The names of those deceased in this horrible murder may not be known to us as they fly upon the winds to the skies, yet, forevermore, they will be remembered in our hearts and in our souls, and in the spirit of the world.

Let us remember all those who have died in the essence of time and history; those who we had loved and cherished; and those who may have been strangers. Let us not forget.

Watch as that single flame - one that can mean so much - dance in the winds as they beckon those who have been lost back home.

Light up the darkness.

So, yes. There is that. To clear up any confusion, 'he' is Norway, and the italicized portion are like the victims who may have perished in the shooting. My condolences to anyone who lost someone in this terrible shooting, and to anyone else out there who has lost someone in an event similar to this, or in a natural disaster, or to some sort of sickness. I lost someone very important to me last year from a sickness.

Anyways, I'll finish that there. Sorry that the ending's a little cheesy, but it's to express everything in loss.

To those who read this, please rate I would like to know how I did, if that's alright with you.

And thank you to anyone who read this story - I hope what happened in Norway touched your heart as much as it touched mine.