Another cold, snowy night promised falimies sitting in front of fireplaces, hoping to keep warm. Most houses were silent, barely a week after Christmas. But in the house on the hill, a mother was rejoicing.
"My beautiful baby. Oh, my beautiful baby boy."
The woman, close to crying, held her new born in her arms. She pressed him against her chest, hoping to keep him warm.
"You will grow to be a great and powerful nation, Ivan. You will carry on for me when I am gone."
The baby closed his eyes and let his mother rock him to sleep.
"You will bring Russia to victory." She kissed his soft head, letting a stray tear run down her cheek. "Мой красивый мальчик..."
--
They killed my mother.
Ivan, now grown and strong, sat at his mother's bedside watching her chest slowly rise and fall.
"Мама? Mother Russia?" Ivan wipped his eyes, making sure that his mother didn't see any sing of worry.
The woman smiled, her skin as pale as the Russian snow. She held her hand out and groped around for her son's hand. When she found it, she held on like she would never let go.
"Ivan, dear, now this is your time to take care of our people." She kissed the back of his hand. "My time has run out. It is a new age for our people; you must pull then through these tough times. Be strong. For Russia. Для России."
Her hand went limp, her head lolled to the side. Yet, Ivan could not let go. Tears ran down his cheeks, a stray few falling on the still body he hovered over, soaking into her night gown.
"Я сделаю то, что требуется, чтобы мстить за Вас, Mама."
--
A few weeks later Ivan began receiving calls from America and other nations. They'd discouraged his new-found power and told him that nothing really changed. In reality, his whole world had turned inside out.
Later in the week, Alfred would stop by every few days. trying his best to keep the Russian sane. They'd sat together and talked about what Ivan had missed in the last few meetings. Business, though important, was not something that Ivan wanted to get into at that time.
Alfred's vistis went from five days a week to once -maybe twice- a week. Alone in his large house, Ivan started caring less and less anout his health. Self-inflected cuts and bruises littered Ivan's once snow-white skin. Eating had been stopped since his house ran out of food. He couldn't go outside and buy more, he didn't have the heart to leave his house.
A few days after these patterns started, Alfred walked through Russia's doors with bags of food and a couple medical supplies.
With a half-hearted struggle, Ivan finally let the American take care of him enough to get him off his feet.
Clean, patched up, and belly full, Ivan muttered a small 'Thank You' to the free nation.
"So, Russia, are you feeling any better?" Alfred asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.
"No, I'm not Russia; Mother Russia passed away. Call me the Soviet Union." The air around them was so thick, a knife couldn't cut it.
Grabbing a broken flaucet that was lying on his table, Ivan hit it against his hand a few times, causing Alfred to back away slowly.
"They will all pay. Now nobody has a choice in the matter." Russia advanced foward, flaucet in hand.
He shuffled foward slightly, chanting, "Вы все станете один с Россией."
"You will all become one with Russia."
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A/N: This took two half-hour History classes to write and a tired, asleep artist at 1:30 am to type. God, I'm so tired.
We're learning about the Red movement in Russia right now in History, so, this is what I got from it. Sorry if it isn't accurate. ^^;
Мой красивый мальчик. - My beautiful baby boy.
Мама? - Mother?
Для России. - For Russia.
Я сделаю то, что требуется, чтобы мстить за Вас, Мама. - I will do whatever it takes to avenge you, Mother.
Вы все станете один с Россией. - You will all become one with Russia.
(Did I get these right?)