It is said by some people, that the mind can be described as a house. All the emotions, feelings, and yearnings everyone feels are free to roam within that house, free to do as they please in the house of the unharnessed mind.

Everyone has the same feelings, the same emotions, but some choose to express them differently. Some may choose to cage the happiness into a room in their mind; others attempt to lock fear away from the rest of their emotions.

Russia took a long, wistful look out the frozen window. The snow greeted him back, cold and unforgiving. Staring for a moment, the large nation ripped his gaze away, back to the floor.

"Mr. Russia, sir?" A small man, one of his boss's personal messengers, stood before him with a cocky, arrogant air. "I have a message from your boss."

He sighed at the mention of Stalin, looking at the comparatively tiny person before him. "What does he want?"

"More forces, more land. More people."

Russia grimaced. "That means I have to fight more, doesn't it?" He gripped the edge of the table he was sitting in front of, turning back to the window. "Fine. I'll do it."

The more he thought about fighting, the more it killed him inside. Yes, he was known as a ruthless murderer by some countries, and hated by even more, but it was his job. He couldn't count the times he'd come across a country, small or big, that he'd defeated and left in a bloody pool on the once-white snow.

He turned to talk once again to the messenger, but he was gone.

The tall nation didn't even know what country was quaking before him, but he did his job quickly and well. He stepped forward, leaving a track in the crimson snow.

"N-no!" The whimpering figure before him held out a shaky hand in surrender. "I-I'll do anything you want!"

Russia paused a moment. There was… something… about this shivering mass in front of him… that made him think. "What are you willing to do?" The fear in the smaller country's eyes was brimming now in the form of tears.

"A-anything… please don't kill me…"

He heard his boss's voice in the back of his mind then. I want… I want…. Doesn't matter how you get it… Communism is the key…. Russia's eyes hardened, narrowing into slits as he raised his pipe to silence the thing in front of him.

"Wait! Please, don't…"

He knew this would be hell on him later. He always felt terribly guilty every time he had to do this. Still, he must do his job, or Stalin would… Stalin would….

Something in the distance caught his eye, and he looked up from the whimpering country in front of him. A sunflower, a promise of warmth, beckoned to him on the horizon. "What… is…"

"P-please, stop," the little one cried. "Please…"

"A sunflower," Russia smiled. "I want it." He dropped the pipe on the ground beside the boy; really, he couldn't have even been a full-fledged country yet. "Why is there a sunflower…?"

"S-sir, I d-don't know what y-you're…"

Some say that the mind is like a house; living in it are all your fears, your emotions, your dreams. And in some houses, people lock away certain emotions.

Rage and Insanity, for example, are a common pair. Although it's dangerous, deadly even, to keep them in the same room, most people tie them down into the basement of their mind together.

"A sunflower…"

Even the most calm, peaceable person, though, can break. If you're too careless, if you don't pay attention, Rage and Insanity can destroy the walls of your mind, roaming freely as they wish.

"I want it…"

You cannot have it, Rage whispers. It will never be yours. And Insanity laughs along with him, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"But… I want it… warmth…"

You will never know warmth, the incessant Rage pries on. Insanity scratches at his own bonds, laughing merrily. Never.

Russia glared back at the beaten, half-dead thing in front of him. I want warmth. You have warmth. He knelt down, picking his pipe back up. Blood dripped from its cold metal surface.

You can never have warmth of your own. Rage claws restlessly at the walls of the room he's been forced into. Insanity beats at the door, threatening to break it down.

I want it.

You can never have it.

But I want it. Russia raised his pipe high above his head, a cold gleam in his eye. He has warmth. Maybe I can take his.

Yes, yes! Insanity laughs, Take his! Wooden splinters fly into the air as Rage claws mercilessly at the wall.

And then the door breaks.

The swishing sound of metal flying through the air, then the choking, gargling screech of pain filled Russia's ears, and he smiled.

Insanity runs amok, free in the mind, free at last! He grins, prancing merrily. Rage thrives on the cries of pain that he can hear.

Wait, wait! A tiny, fluttering emotion runs through the entire house, crying. You'll be sorry for this, just wait! Put them back, put them back! Rage seizes Guilt's throat in his hand, cutting off the call.

Russia shrugged away the guilt that had been starting to build up, focusing instead on that sunflower in the distance. "I want it," he said again. The cold, lifeless eyes of what once was a nation stared blankly up at him.

You can't have it. You can't have warmth! Rage shouts this loudly, shaking Guilt.

Maybe if other nations have warmth, you can get it too, childlike Insanity suggests with a smile. You can take their warmth. Rage throws Guilt's dead body to the floor.

Russia smiled lightly, twirling his water pipe as he walked away from the body below him. "All will become one with me," he hummed. The blood rapidly freezing to the pipe was the only indicator of what had happened.

In the house of your mind, some say, you should keep careful watch on the caged emotions. Make sure they don't break out.

Make sure they don't take control.