I stared at the various torture devices that lay spread across a rolling table. Then I looked back at Russia. "So, what is it you want for?" Russia just smiled.
"I just want to have fun, that's all." his reply made my eyebrow twitch with irritation. He wanted to have fun? How is torturing people fun?! Even though I struggled against the restraints of the chair, it was to no avail. They were just too damn thick and too damn tight, I would need a really sharp knife to cut through them. So I just watched him choose which utensil he wanted to use on me first, and began to prepare myself for the pain that was to come. The utensils varied from knives to fireplace pokers and anything else you could possibly think of. But, he didn't pick any of the rather sharp objects, much to my surprise. "lets start with this, Da?" Russia said as his grin grew wider. "Lets not and say we did." I retorted. "but that would be no fun." I shot him glare, making sure it was hateful and defiant. Russia only laughed as he cracked the whip against my chest. I made sure to only grunt and flinch, not wanting to give him the pleasure of hearing me scream. Then other lash of the whip came down on me, then another, and another. God damn it, it fucking hurt, but what could I possibly do tied up to a fucking chair?! Obviously I was extremly pissed off at him and myself.
He finally stopped after I stopped grunting. My once nice shirt was now in tatters, and my skin was covered in long, shallow gashes. I looked at him as if I had felt nothing and waited for the next device. While Russia placed the whip back in it's original spot on the table, he spoke. "You know...It took England an entire week to break. Will you be easy as he was or harder?" I smirked darkly at him. "I will never break. I am the awesome Prussia!" He chuckled. "so you say." he said as he picked up a Heretic fork, or I assumed that's what it was given its appearance. Russia walked over with said device and placed it around my neck, making me unable to lower my head, or speak freely. "scream all you like. But you wont be able to speak." No shit Sherlock. Obviously I know this, otherwise I wouldn't be fucking glaring at you. Once he was finished clasping the fork, he walked away and out the door, closing it with a loud bang.
Since I can't sleep with this damned thing around my neck, poking the skin under my chin, I stared at the wall, or at England. He woke up periodically, but he couldn't stay awake long enough to make any sensible sentences. One thing I did notice though, was the fact he was getting worse. If I wanted to get him out of here alive, I needed to escape and soon. But, how was going to be able to? Thinking hard, I looked around the room for any ideas. But then I realized, I could move my legs, I could simply drag myself over to the table and grab a knife! Why didn't I think of this earlier? With a new found purpose, started to drag myself, as quietly as I can, over to the table. If I thought I heard foot steps, I stopped and waited, so as paranoid as I am, this happened frequently. But after what felt for fucking hours, I made if over there. With the fork piercing my skin the further I leaned towards the table, I was barely able to grab one of the bigger and sharper knives. But now I had another dilemma, how was I going to free myself with limited mobility? Who cares. I thought to myself as I began to push the knife back and forth across the rope of my right wrist. I was getting tired, and I could feel my body start to fall asleep as I did this because of the repetition of my movements, but I managed to keep myself conscious enough to finish the job on my right hand and move on to the next. Finally, after about twenty minutes, I freed myself from my bindings and removed the heretic fork from my neck. Once I did though, It left two holes in the skin, and blood was trickling down my neck. "finally..." I whispered to myself as I walked over to England.