"Why don't they ever remember me," Canada angrily asked Kumajiro who was sitting on the couch in the living room of his house. He just returned from the meeting with the other Allies; he came home way before it ended because he knew he wouldn't get a chance to speak, he presence wasn't even acknowledged when the meeting the meeting was in his country! He put up with it for a while, but he grew sick and tired of being ignored.
The bear glanced at the usually meek man. "Wait, who are you?"
Canada glared daggers at the bear. "I'm freaking Canada, damnit! I'm your fucking owner!"
"Jeez," was all Kumajiro said in reply before he left the couch and trotted up the stairs to escape the Canadian's wrath.
"I'm the second largest country in the world and those fuckers can't even remember who I am," Canada screamed, his rage increasing by the second, and his blood boiling.
He punched the wall and dented it. It caused his knuckles to bleed, but he was so angry that he didn't care. He licked the blood off of his bright red knuckles and sparked an idea. He needed revenge; he needed to show them that he actually existed. It didn't even matter to him how it was done. Canada practically ran up the stairs to his bedroom, he saw Kumajiro sitting on his bed watching some stupid, irrelevant T.V. show. He laid down on his stomach and searched under his bed for a small box.
"Ah, here it is," Canada said to himself, pulling out the box from under his bed, and standing up again. He opened it, removed its contents, and smirked.
"What are you doing with a gun," Kumajiro asked him, curiously.
Canada looked at the bear with a creepy, malicious smile plastered on his face. "This," he replied simply. He aimed the pistol directly at the bear's head, and pulled the trigger.
He watched Kumajiro's body flop down on his bed and laughed manically, not even caring about the blood getting all over his nice bedding.
"That's what you get for never remembering my name, jackass," Canada shouted at the lifeless bear's corpse. He threw it on the floor making it bounce a couple inches in the air, and kicked it once, so hard that he probably would have caused a large bruise to form on the bear's skin if he were alive.
'Enough with this stupid fucking bear,' Canada thought, throwing on a coat and exiting his bedroom. It was snowing in his country and he needed something to hide his gun in.
He stepped outside and the cold was like a slap to the face. The sky was covered with gray clouds, and the ground with pure white snow. Everything looked so dull in his eyes.
'Their crimson blood splattered on the snow would make it livelier,' Canada thought, maliciously.
The place where the meeting was held was a short walk away from his home, so it took him about ten minutes to get there. The building looked exactly like any other business place; it was tall and had way too many windows. He entered the building with both hands in his pockets, secretly clutching the gun in his right pocket.
The meeting room was on the fifth floor so he pressed the elevator's up button, impatiently tapping his right foot waiting for it to arrive.
'Hurry the fuck up stupid elevator,' he thought just before the elevator doors opened, 'thank god!'
The elevator was empty which was probably for the best. Canada hated being in an elevator with other people, there was always an awkward atmosphere in them, and he couldn't stand it. He pressed the five button and waited for the elevator doors to open once more. As the elevator rose, so did his anger level. His thoughts were full of all the things the Allies did to him, especially what his brother, America, did. He could never get his name right, always calling him "Canadia" and insulting his country like it was inferior.
The elevator doors opened and he spotted the meeting room door directly across the hall. He hastily walked to it and leaned his ear on the door, trying to hear the Allies' conversation. All he could hear was America's obnoxious laughter, it made his blood boil.
Canada burst into the meeting room and everything went silent, they all stared at him with puzzled looks on their faces. Their expressions asked "who's that?"
"Oh," America greeted, realizing who it was, breaking the silence, and smiling goofily, "Hey, Canadia."
Canada sighed angrily and glared at him. "You're my fucking brother; shouldn't you know that my name is Canada? Come on! Let's spell it out! C-A-N-A-D-A! There is no "I" in there! God America, could you be any more stupid?"
The countries were all taken aback by Canada's behavior and disposition. He was usually so quiet, barely noticeable, timid, nice, and non-violent.
"That's no way to treat you brother, you arse," England yelled back, defending the American who was choking back tears.
Canada abruptly pulled the pistol out of his pocket and pointed it at the Brit which caused the rest of the Allies' eyes to widen, but they were too scared to move; it would cause death. "Shut the hell up, limey! You're just as bad! You can't even remember my name! I have to tell you every time!"
France put up his hands in defense. "Now, now, Canada," he said in a shaken voice, "don't do anything unnecessary."
Canada narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman and shook his head. "Why do you care," he muttered under his breath. He focused his attention back to his brother, pointing the gun at him.
"Bye, Bye, America, I've always hated you," he sang, pulling the trigger.
Everybody else in the room gasped. America fell to the floor with a thud, dead. He was his in a vital organ; his heart, killing him on impact. He was bleeding out all over the floor, his eyes as wide as saucers.
China nudged the Russian man who was sitting next to him. "Do something, Russia," he whispered so Canada couldn't hear him.
The Russian waved him off. "Нет, not yet," he whispered back, clutching the pipe on his lap, plotting when to end this.
Canada laughed manically, a malicious look in his eyes, and a twisted smile on his face. "Who's next," he asked, looking around the room. Nobody spoke up.
Alright, how about I choose," he asked, closing his eyes and pointing his finger all around the room. When he opened his eyes, he was pointing at France who was biting his thumb nervously and rocking back and forth in his chair.
Canada smirked at the Frenchman's fear. "You. 'Papa' France." France bolted out of his chair and made a dash for the window to no avail. Canada shot him point blank on the side of his neck, the bullet broke through a critical blood vessel. France crashed onto the floor, his hands covering his wound, and blood slipping through his fingers. He moaned and screamed from the excruciating pain that the bullet caused, but after about two minutes, he was dead in a large pool of blood.
Again Canada laughed. "Oh no, there is blood in his precious hair," He exclaimed, sarcastically.
He paid his attention to the Brit who was muttering "Bloody hell," repeatedly under his breath and staring at the floor.
Canada smirked at the frightened man, enjoying the power that he had over them all. He aimed his gun at England's head. "You're next," was all he said before he shot the Brit who had just looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear. England face-planted on the floor, he was dead before he hit it.
China was staring at him, pure terror written all over his face; he knew he was next. The Chinese man pulled out his handy dandy wok and bravely ran towards Canada screaming a battle cry, only to get directly shot in the heart when he was a few feet in front of him. Canada paid no mind to the Russian man who was amused by all of this.
Canada laughed when the Chinese man hit the floor with a thud; he heard his skull crack on the hardwood floor. Canada walked up to the dead man and kicked his wok into the wall as if it was a soccer ball.
Still, he paid no mind to the Russian man who clapped softly and stood up.
"Well done, Canada," he said with a creepy smile on his face, his purple aura surrounding him as he walked in Canada's direction, "you've done all my dirty work for me."
Canada aimed his pistol at the Russian, but it was too late. The Russian slammed his pipe into Canada's head, fracturing his skull. He died on impact. Blood splattered on Russia's trench coat as he ripped his pipe from Canada's skull, pulling some of his honey blonde hair out. Russia pulled the hair off of the pipe and licked the end of it, savouring the sweet taste of blood on his tongue.
"They were all idiots; they never saw it coming."