I hope you like this...my first Hetalia fic...Russia 3
Russia looked around his house, purple eyes dull, reflecting its emptiness. His shoulders sagged as the feeling of being truly alone filled him with despair, memories bombarding his sight of all of his enemies, his friends, terrified.
All he wanted was someone to talk to, to smile when he was there, because he was there. Not Belarus, even she hated him.
He shivered as he touched the cold, unforgiving metal, knowing it was all he had left.
Ivan raised it to his head, smiling as he thought of how happy they would all be, now that he was gone, now that he was no longer tormenting them.
He just wished he had had someone, someone to protect him, to save him, from General Winter, from the grief, from himself.
But it was too late now. He would play his game for the last time.
Click
Click
Click
Click
Click
Then, nothing.
Except the resonating sound of the bang as the bullet entered his brain, and the slow, dripping of crimson from the walls.
There was not one nation who did not weep at his funeral, who did not plead, implore, why. No-one understood, but they all felt the same great sadness to see the end of the once magnificent country that was the Russian Federation, the one Ally whom no-one doubted would win them the war because he was Russia, and the brother, the confidant, the friend that had been Ivan Braginski.
North and South Italy cried for his child-like glee at simple pleasures.
Spain for his refusal to step in a fight he could win blindfolded, when he would rather wait until he really had no other choice.
England and America for how easily he had kept his reputation as a fearsome nation.
Japan and Germany for how he would take his torment as an everyday ritual.
The Baltics, especially Lithuania would have given anything for a single more day with him, even if it meant a day of living hell for them.
His sisters sobbed for his careless drinking habits, how he wore his scarf, how he smiled whenever he saw, or held a sunflower.
China, he cried for days, wishing he had told him while he had the chance, prayed for the day he could have admitted how he felt, when Ivan had leapt from his plane, parachute-less. Yao could only regret the times he had turned Russia over and over again from his house.
Russia didn't know by leaving, he would only remove their smiles. He didn't know just how much they cared.
And now, he never would.
Why did I write this...I'm sorry.
Plz Review, if you got this far :D