Hello everyone! I in no way own any of the characters of Hetalia, they belong to their rightful owner Hidekazu. I simply own the plot of this story.

I do have a poll for this story up. If your interested, it does affect the story, please check it out.


Alfred wasn't sure when he had picked himself and walked home, everything was hazy. He was locked in a zombie-like state, his body only going through the motions. Upon getting inside his house, Alfred slipped off his shoes and walked into his room. He dug around in his dresser drawers, which were decently organized, and grabbed a black tee and a pair of sweats.

He sighed as he walked over to the bathroom. The white lights next to the mirror seemed to give the room a eerie glow. It made his skin look pale and make the puffiness around his eyes appear to be worse then what then it was. He stood still for a while, just staring back at his reflection. There was no evident emotion on his face, but it contrasted greatly to what he felt inside.

Words rang and echoed in his head. Teasingly. Tauntingly, harshly.

Disgusting. It's absolutely disgraceful how disgusting you are. Just look at yourself.

Alfred slowly turned so he could see his stomach and sides in the mirror. He slowly slipped off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. His hands pinched and picked at what they could grab, leaving faint red marks along his body. Maybe he was disgusting...after all he could pinch a bit of fat...it wouldn't be that hard to lose, right? It would just be a few pounds.

See, look at all that fat. England was right, everyone was right. Maybe you should listen to them, but you're too big of an airhead...

Alfred frowned, and his hands gripped the marble sink. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. He was smart...he had won a few wars. Sure he didn't act the brightest during meetings, but they were boring and silent when there wasn't someone to cause commotion. Silence was bad...it allowed him to think. And when he thought...it was things like these. He couldn't drag people down or worry them, but then...why was acting like an idiot any different.

It isn't. You just really love this idiot act. You dress like one too. You're such a slob Alfred, it's rather disappointing to see how all you can do is hurt everyone. You destroy everything you touch...and its sad. You always hurt England by being rude and insulting him. You ignore your brother. You rarely talk or try to be nice to Russia. You always hurt everyone. No one needs you. Honestly, people would be better off witho-

A loud shattering broke the rant inside his mind. A sharp pain spreaded through his right hand. Alfred blinked a few times before a small gasp stumbled past his lips. He had mashed the bathroom mirror with his hand. Shards of glass dug into his hand and he slowly pulled it into his chest, blood starting to drop out of the wound. He looked into the cracked mirror...the image of himself was distorted and bent. Alfred decided he liked the way it looked a lot better then what he saw before.

However, what he like better then the broken mirror was the feeling in his hand. The pain had turned to a dull numbness and it was spreading through his entire body. It felt good in a twisted way, it took the pain away. He quickly changed and discard the white shirt with drops of blood. Alfred bent down, and slowly grabbed a larger piece of the mirror that laid scattered along the floor. He held it in his hands, very delicately, and walked out of the bathroom. He left the mess behind and waked over to his drawers. He hid the glass under clothes, deciding it keep it as a souvenir, maybe something more. He walked over to his bed, and collapsed. He tangled the blankets around him and kept his hands pulled into his chest.

He quickly fell asleep, the pains of earlier and the broken mirror monetarily forgotten.