A/N: This is what happens when you watch too many serious Hetalia vids...
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France shuddered as exited house. The smell of copper and decay hit him square in the face, it felt like a punch to the gut and nearly made him gag just as bad. People held handkecheifs to their nose others fanned their faces as if the cool sun was beating down on them worse than it really was. He walked out as if everything was normal, even if the death wagons were going in long lines like a dying snake.
A woman's scream brought him out of his thoughts. She ran through the streets screaming curses at anyone who looked at her, she wore a expensive looking dress of black, and clutched a rose to her chest. France didn't move as two men with weapons grabbed her and dragged her away.
Her terrified face held in in enthralled. The clear tears dripping from dark blue eyes and pretty blonde hair streaked with dirt plastered to her face. It was the perfect picture of agony and he wanted to drink in every detail. He wanted every detail to stick into his mind like honey to a feather, so she could mourn for him.
It was a horrible, no, evil though to cross his mind, but as a nation his tears had stopped long ago. The world was ever changing, and he had learned that humans naturally craved death and suffering, the same way they craved for peace and freedom. They walked hand and hand, this whole revolution was proof of this.
He managed to get through the bustle of the streets to the stinking crowds of the market square. In the middle sat a device that he was going to go to hell for, the guillotine. It sat on a once lovely stage of oak, now splattered with enough blood to make a vampire ill. On it was the sturdy grim reaper, The board that was supposed to hold a person was being filled with a older looking gentleman, the angled blade glistened as it rose to the top of the device, doing a better job than a bell in telling people that this man was to die.
Many people cheered, only a select few were shaking or looking away. Those that cheered were happy that this man, with all his money, was being killed. Those foolish ones though the money would be passed around like a newborn babe, but France already knew that someone else had the money, and would die before parting with it.
The few that were looking away either held respect for him, or was glad that they were not in his place. France himself was almost set onto that dread alter, if it wasn't for some knowledgeable people, he would be looking down on this instead of looking at it squarely.
The executioner had raised the blade as high as it would go, France looked down at the ground as the whizzing sound of the blade rushed down and the heavy yet wet chop sounded. After a moment the man was pronounced dead, and the woman from earlier was dragged up by her hair. She screamed as she was set on the board and bound, her executioner demanding a gag be put on her, France watched her death intently as she cried, watched her head fall to the ground, her pretty eyes wide open. He watched as the body was thrown to the side and the next victim chosen.
He then took a deep breath and turned away, his gait like that of a drunkard, slow and deliberate but instead of wine France was drunk off of sorrow and blood. It filled his being and beat at him so much he could no longer feel the proper emotions, in fact, he didn't feel at all. He locked it all into his heart and put on his false smile, and went off to a tavern to drink his sorrow away.
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A/N: So how was that? This is my first time writing something so serious, and it sorta scared me while writing it...So yeah...Anyway thanks for reading and please review!