Author's Note: I know, this is quite a sensitive topic to write about. I assure you I mean no harm or offense to anyone; I merely thought it would be interesting to write about Japan's point of view about this. Just to put it out there, I'm not trying to 'evilise' America or excuse Japan for the bombing of Pearl Harbour, or its imperialistic times. It's just a little one-shot I decided to write, but if you don't like reading about such things, it's alright if you don't.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of the characters; I love messing around with 'em, though.

(I don't own the cover image, either).

It happened on the 6th of August, 1945.

Japan felt it the second the American B-29 bomber flew in. He felt a churning in the pit of his stomach; a lump rising in his throat; the weakening of his knees.

'Something bad is about to happen.'

Almost immediately after the thought, the bomb was dropped.

Japan first gasped sharply as pain shot up in his chest, his mouth going drier than sandpaper. His knees buckled and he hit the ground roughly, gasping for breath, shaking violently, the taste of blood in his mouth, sharp and pungent, as the crimson red trickled down his chin. His trembling fingers dug into the dirt, as though if he were to hold on tight enough, the pain would subside. It did not, however, but the opposite: the searing pain spread throughout his body, making his head spin; spots dance in his vision; his breathing ragged.

When it became too intense for him to swallow down, Japan let out a scream of anguish that echoed into the sky, and he saw visions of all his people: injured (can't you see how they're begging for help?); dying (look at all those futures that are being erased); suffering even worse than he was (you can't even save your own people, how pathetic).

A whimper somehow escaped his chapped lips, worsening the continuous stabbing in his chest.

Blood and tears formed a runny puddle on the soil.

Finally, after hours of torture, Japan's body went limp and he fell into the darkness.

'Sir, Japan still hasn't surrendered.'

'Are you serious?! That was a nuclear bomb!

'It would seem that it was not enough.'

'…'

'…Sir?'

'Drop another one.'

'Another bomb?'

'Yes. If one wasn't enough, then maybe the second will be.'

'Consider it done.'

Three days were not enough.

God, three years were not enough for recovery.

Japan, having still barely regained his ability to control his breathing, had been thinking about his allies' surrender: Germany and Italy.

He wanted to surrender as well. Badly. Japan was exhausted and felt the lives of those who had died—and were still dying—from the atomic blast weigh over him like they were the sky. '90 percent of Hiroshima destroyed,' someone had told him. The voice had felt so far away. '80,000 lives lost…and still counting.'

His beloved city, his beloved people...gone.

Yet, despite all this, his boss had refused. He would not allow Japan to surrender.

'I just want this all to end…'

He didn't want an empire anymore. He didn't want power anymore. He didn't want to keep on fighting for what two of his allies had already given up on anymore.

'Every great empire must fall.' Who had told him these words? Had they been an empire themselves? Or had they been under his very rule, trying to make him see sense?

But what was sense, at the time? Every powerful country had an empire; colonies under its command. Even the so-called 'right side', involving England and France, had countries trapped in a cage of their laws.

How else was he supposed to secure himself against the Western powers? How else was he supposed to tell the intimidating and haughty countries to back off?

'I couldn't refuse what my leaders wanted. Security, resources, market, national pride…'

He took those at the cost of other nations—but what was the interests of other nations to him? They wouldn't have benefited him in the slightest, even if the opposite was insisted upon.

Nevertheless, it had all amounted to nothing in the end. He was losing, losing it all. It had been a temporary rise in influence and pride that had quickly plummeted, and he had to face it all on his own. He'd made his choice and was now paying the price. If only he could stop right now…before things could get any worse…but could things get worse than a nuclear bomb?

In his beloved backyard, surrounded by his favourite cherry blossoms, Japan closed his eyes. As the breeze ruffling his modestly-cut, sleek black hair, now singed at the edges, he felt it: the same churning in his stomach he had felt three days ago.

Japan's eyes shot open as the horrific thought crossed his mind: 'Not another one…America couldn't drop…he couldn't—'

Everything that would have followed vanished as the sound of the blast reached his ears; a blast so deafening that his ear drums might have exploded. They probably did.

Nagasaki…that definitely came from Nagasaki.

'They…they did it again.'

This time the scream came out of him right away: agony, pain, torment. He was feeling the effect of the blast on each of his citizens, and once again, the stinging pain pierced at his insides as he struggled for lungfuls of air. He pressed his hands to his eyes to stop the world tilting, but that did not cease the sudden throbbing in his head, nor did it soothe his palpitations. Japan's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he felt as if he had been doused with acid. His body burned and the visions came to him once more.

Blood. (They're bleeding because of your sins). Dismembered body parts. (They're losing it all because of your greed). Death…death everywhere, and he was incapable of stopping it and it was all his fault.

Japan could no longer take any of this—in these moments he desired nothing more than for his soul to be carried off so that he could finally find peace—but that could never happen. Instead, he found his quavering voice again, and he rasped out: "Stop…s-stop, please." Everything felt like a never-ending nightmare; the fine line between illusion and reality was blurred. He wasn't even sure what language he was speaking. He didn't know if anyone was around to hear him either, nor did he care whether this was against his boss's orders. This had to end.

"I-I s-surrender…j-just…s-stop…i-innocent people…I beg y-you…" Japan had never despised America so much. How? How could someone claim to be a hero and still commit all of these atrocities? How could he put him through so much pain? A brief vision of the bombing of Pearl Harbour flashed before him, but he couldn't suppress his rage. It wasn't fair. Yes, a lot of the blame fell on him, but it hadn't been his choice…it never was.

When the pain only worsened, Japan screamed out to the sky: "STOP RIPPING LIVES AWAY! S-STOP!"

Footsteps were beginning to approach the suffering nation, and in those brief moments before Japan lost consciousness, he made a decision.

'I can't do this anymore…from now on…I will be alone.'

Alone, he wouldn't have to see other countries, much less desire to control them. He wouldn't have to deal with the conflicts of others. They would have no excuse to go to war with him.

He would be…peaceful.

And thus Japan shut himself away from the world.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated!

~D.J.