"Alright, time to get up Demy. We have a World Conference to get to." My father quietly knocked on my door, politely leaving it closed instead of barging in.

I love Canada, to bits. He's very kind, even if it is a bit strange to have a father the same age as me. After all, he is the whole country, I'm just pitiful little Devon Island.

I cleaned my own blood off the hunting knife and sheathed it in the stiff leather case that came with it.

Throwing it under my bed somewhere, I tugged on my arm warmers and my coat, hiding my scarred and fat body from the rest of the world, and left my room, moving to the door.

"Ah, uhmm Dem, aren't you going to eat?" Dad asked, holding a pancake. I shook my head.

"I haven't been feeling too well all morning, so I don't think it would be too smart to eat." I smiled at him. It was fake, but still he smiled back, pushing up his glasses and holding Kumajirou, who looked up at me and asked, "Who are you?"

My head drooped, "I'm Devon Island. . . "I said quietly and walked out the door.

I chose instead to walk to the Conference, deciding I didn't want to drive anywhere and it was only a few blocks away from our house. Making it with time to spare, I sat in my seat, watching some of the other countries bustling around me.

Not once did anyone stop to ask how I was.

Just then, France sat down beside me, speaking loudly to Austria, who was arguing his point with cool indifference. I winced and tried to scoot my chair away from him and his excessive noise. I ended up beside Greece, who was sleeping soundly with a silver tabby purring by his head.

I gave a tiny smile; I always had a soft spot for cats, being from an island where fishing was the main food source. I reached out my hand and rubbed the baby soft fur behind its ear and the cat left the sleeping country to come nuzzle my face.

"Well, I'm glad at least you can see me love." I murmured into the cat's silvery fur, and she meowed at me loudly before going back to purring.

"Cloud . . . what are you doing?" A tired, muffled voice came from my left. I instantly froze; I didn't want to alarm Heracles by seeing his cat rub against something invisible. Someone would be more appropriate of a word I would guess.

"Ah, looks like you made a new friend . . . Demytri . . ." and with that, he promptly closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

"Y-you saw me?"

"Dad, I'm not joking! He saw me! He knew who I was!"

We were back home and sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for my least favourite part of the day.

Lunch.

"Alright, I believe you Demy. Come on now, eat up. If you want I made you your favourite. Pasta Alfredo . . ." He trailed off and looked at me apologetically.

He knew I couldn't resist Pasta Alfredo. Giving in with a stiff nod and reminding myself strongly of Germany when he was put in an awkward setting, I grabbed a bowl and sat down at the well worn wooden table.

"They all noticed me today too," he smiled softly; "we were talking about health care, and how Ottawa has it free."

He looked down at his bowl, "I don't think Belarus and England were too happy with me though."

We sat and ate in silence, listening simply to the stream running through our back yard and the birds in the trees. Sitting here was always a pleasure with Dad.

And all too soon it ended with a phone call.

"Hello, Canada speaking?" He answered with a soft, questioning voice, holding the handheld to his ear.

"N-no, I'm Canada."

...

"Yes, I'm sure I'm not America."

...

"Devon Island? Yes, she's here. W-would you like to speak with her?"

"Ok, please hold the line." Canada looked dejected and rested the phone lightly on the kitchen table, going back to his Italian dish with a portable rain cloud over his head.

Kumajirou looked up from the entrance to the kitchen and asked, "Who are you?"

Dad sobbed, "I'm Canada. . ."

Ignoring this regular occurrence, I grabbed the phone and left to my room, greatly happy that whoever it was had gotten me out of lunch.

"Hello, Devon Island speaking. May I ask who is c-calling?" I spoke politely into the phone, sitting on my bed and waiting for a reply. What I received was an answer in an accent I had never encountered before. It sounded like a mix of many different accents all mimicked horribly.

"So Demytri Zeklos, right? I just wanted to know something." The stranger asked.

"Y-yes?" I had a bad feeling . . .

"Those scars on your neck, is your pitiful little island that horrible you tried to kill yourself out of boredom?" There was another voice in the background, barely masking their accent while they laughed. I heard something from the back about how the plan was working well and something else about knocking Canada down a few pegs.

"T-t-that's a birthmark." I bit my lip to keep from crying.

Those were the only marks on my body that weren't scars. They were birthmarks that wrapped around my jugular. They were very faint lines and although they came over my collar, I didn't think anyone would think they were anything more than what they were.

"Uh huh, okay. Bloody he-!" There was a scuffle and a slightly accented, definitely male voice.

"Uhh, something came up, and we can't, I mean, I can't say anything . . ." There was the male voice again, sounding decidedly more animated this time, almost angry. The mysterious voice spoke to him in a heavy English accent, sounding terrified and the phone beeped.

They had hung up.

My hands were shaking, and tears flowing freely down my face.

The last voice I heard was most definitely England. The accent was perfect. Completely flawless.

I slowly lowered myself off my bed and onto the floor, searching underneath it for what I knew was there. I had never felt such intense feelings of sadness, worthlessness, ugliness.

I unsheathed the hunting knife again, tearing off my arm warmers and immediately getting to work. Pressing the blade to my skin, I felt the slight pain of the first cut in the area, and dug it deep into my arm near my elbow. Carving a large "U" into the flesh, followed after by "nwanted" in cursive, just as deep.

I pushed up my trench coat and my tank top, seeing the disgusting sight of every single rib in my body, and deeming, for sure, that I was still as grotesquely overweight as I had thought.

I came to that conclusion and dug the knife in again, tearing through my soft stomach and writing "Fat ass" in cursive right side up, so everyone would know that I knew about my obesity when they found my body.

I watched the blood run freely down my body, my hips, my legs, but it wasn't enough. I mercilessly tore away at my ribs until the blood soaked into my jeans.

I had made up my mind; waiting to bleed out takes too much time. I pulled down my trench coat sleeves and the bottom of my tank top. It would take too long to grab a piece of paper, so I used my own blood to write "This wasn't your fault Dad, I love you," on my dresser top.

I opened the window to the chilly October air and hopped the short distance to the tree branch, using that to get down.

A fall from that height wouldn't kill me, I needed something bigger, I needed to make sure.

I was so lightheaded I felt like I was about to throw up. Dad would be looking for me right now; I left a little over an hour ago, trying to find a spot that would kill me quickly.

I had bought some sleeping pills and water at the pharmacy a few blocks back, in case I couldn't find a tall enough building. It looked like it would have to do.

I made my way to the park, my favourite one, where the yellows and browns and reds were covering the ground like a blanket. The small pond had a bridge that crossed it, with an alcove underneath that I knew could fit me without anyone being able to see.

It was the place where I first met him as well.

I heard the thump of their feet as they ran by my hiding place. Thank God I had found the little alcove just in time to hide from the bullies.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I heard a soft meow and felt the sandpaper tongue of a cat dart across my knee. There was a small brown kitten, looking like the most curious little thing in the world, making sure I was okay.

Smiling, I slowly looked out of my hiding place and, deeming it safe, picked up the tiny animal and crawled out.

"Hey . . ." a young man that had been laying on the bench spoke to me, his eyes opened a little and he pushed his brown hair out of his face to see better.

"You alright?" He asked in between a lazy yawn.

I smiled a little, he could see me!

"Devon Island" I stuck out my hand, knowing full well he would not remember me later, and possibly not be able to see me again.

A small grin came from the man who accepted my hand and shook it almost with a tired air, "Greece."

More tears fell down my cheeks as I tried to stifle my sobs in my sleeve which was completely soaked in blood.

I wasn't thinking when my finger suddenly started to move across the bridge above me, writing a grisly suicide note to whoever cared enough to find it.

To those who cared,

Thank you.

To those who didn't,

I don't blame you.

England,

I only noticed how much of a nuisance I was when you called me today.

Thank you so much for informing me, I really appreciate it.

Thank you and I'm sorry,

Demy

Canada,

You were my best friend,

My brother,

My father,

And my whole support system.

This wasn't your fault at all,

You were one of two people that kept me alive.

I'm sorry and I love you,

Demy

Greece

I wiped blood over that, as long as this is going to be the last thing I say to him, it was going to come from the heart.

Heracles,

I don't know what to say,

You were the only one to remember my name.

It meant the world to me and more.

I just wanted to let you know,

I love you.

You kept me alive.

You kept just hurting myself from turning into something more.

Thank you for all you've done, whether you realized or not, and I'm sorry . . . for loving you.

Demy

My shaky hand went back to my side and I heard shouts in the distance. I didn't think much of it because, after all, this was a park. Teenagers came here often to hang around, but the alcove I was in was much too small for most people, so they didn't bother even looking.

I popped the top of the sleeping medication and let two slide down my throat with water, then another two, then three, then three again until the whole bottle was gone. It all happened in a matter of minutes, before I had even realized it was my name that I heard being shouted.

I tried to shrug myself deeper into the alcove, but I had the feeling someone would find me anyway for the pill bottle had rolled away from me and my arms were too heavy to hide it.

It wasn't even two inches away from my fingers.

I heard a slew of Greek curse words that registered through the fog in my brain to be Heracles. The meowing helped quite a bit though, I have to admit.

I felt myself being tugged out of my safe place, into the world of harsh light and winds. My eyes tried to focus on him, but all of a sudden, I had a violent ringing in my ears, just barely being able to hear, "Stay with me Demy, come on. . ." before my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

A soft, mechanical beeping filled my head and I tried to move, but everything felt like it was on fire.

I finally succeeded in opening my eyes, only to shut them again with a wheeze that was supposed to be a groan. My throat was very dry.

At least I knew the room was white, and the sun was coming in through the window.

I tried opening them again, finding it a lot easier to adjust to the harsh light and colour that assaulted my senses. Once they were open I looked around the room and recognized just where I was.

"I can't even kill myself properly," I whispered in a hoarse voice.

"I'm glad for that," exhausted male tones reached my ear and my eyes shot over to the chair in which none other than Heracles Karpusi was resting in. He shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair that was provided by the hospital, "Or else . . . you wouldn't be here, and I would feel very upset."

I looked away and experimented with moving my fingers.

"Canada just left, I finally got him to get some sleep," the Grecian's words were absorbed into my head and quelled the worry for my father that I didn't realize I had.

"How long have I been here?" my voice rasped out. Greece grabbed a plastic cup of water and held it to my lips, tipping it slowly so it was just a trickle into my mouth.

"Only for around . . . two days," a somber tone entered his voice, but I took no heed of it, "You scared me . . . you know?"

"I-I never wanted to scare you, just make your life better." I said to him, voice cracking from lack of use.

"How could loosing you make my life better when I-"he was cut off by a nurse coming in to check on me.

"Alright dear, you know the drill," Heracles muttered and went to sit on a cot in the corner of my room, back to me.

"You know," she whispered, "He hasn't left this room the whole time you've been here." She chuckled and unwrapped the dressings on my body, revealing several lines of stitches and raised angry gouges.

"That man must love you very much, no matter how ugly you think you are, I'm sure he will always think you beautiful." Her voice looked up to me, as if she was willing me to believe it, then she cocked her head toward the man sitting moodily on the cot.

And when I looked over at Heracles, I could swear he was blushing.