DATE: God knows

We found Elizaveta's body today.

She was crushed in the remains of a hospital, bandages still in her arms. Her face was smashed and her chest crushed, but it was definitely her, and that just made this whole "end-of-the-world" thing West keeps going on about real for the first time.

It didn't feel real before it. It felt like a bad movie, something you watch with a bunch of friends and some cheap beer, something that was so cheesy and lame that you think it would never happen. It felt like something that would just stop after a while, and I could go back to pestering West and annoying Elizaveta and drinking with Francis and Antonio and plotting about how to become my own country again.

Ha.

I can't believe how moronic I was sometimes.

Not that I will ever admit it out loud, of course. Someone has to keep a sense of normality, to remind the others of how we were before that god dammed war. I try to be that person, but sometimes I wonder how far off the mark I am. West mentioned how different I am in his entry, Antonio how exhausted I was in his.

England and West are burying Eliza's body now with everyone else. I couldn't watch them do it, and so I'm sitting here, hidden by a worn-out tarp, hiding. I don't want to see her face again, bloody and crushed and broken, because that's not Elizaveta.

Elizaveta was psychopathic, rude, tough, evil-minded and the craziest bitch I knew. She was strong, tomboyish, violent, unladylike. She couldn't sit still, didn't listen to a word I said, and beat the shit out of anyone who even tried to oppose her.

She was the last person I ever pictured dying, in all honesty.

She'd probably be pissed off if she knew I was skipping her pathetic funeral. And her funeral is going to be pathetic. We have no time for a real funeral with a priest and a coffin and flowers, so the funerals are just a hole dug into the ground, a few quick words, and then a plain rock shoved into the dirt above their heads.

It's the same funeral for everyone, even the Nations. But Eliza didn't deserve it. No one deserves something so hasty and anonymous, not even Russia. It almost makes me feel like I'm failing them, the deceased.

No one's bothered to write a list of the dead yet – maybe they just don't want to think about it; who's dead and who's living in this crummy excuse of a world. There's been so many dead Nations already, and we're still not done, but neither West nor Antonio nor that Romano kid bothered to included a list.

We found Poland, Finland, Belarus, Russia, Estonia, and Latvia dead, and gave them hasty burials by Moscow. We haven't found Sweden, Lithuania, Denmark or Norway yet, and Turkey's up by their homes now, looking for them. China and Japan went to check out the East, but we haven't heard from them in three weeks at least. Greece is looking around in Africa. England and Francis are trying to build a boat to reach North America with.

So many dead, and so many we have left to find. We can't find Roderich's body, and I almost wish we won't, if it'll look anything like Eliza's. I don't want to ever see anything like that ever again.

And I feel weird, too. Like something is sitting on my chest, crushing my ribs until they threaten to snap. My eyes ache and breathing hurts, like someone's shoved cotton balls into my mouth. I want to destroy something, break anything, scream until my throat bleeds...I need to not feel this hollow ache inside of me anymore because it's eating me alive and I have no idea about how to stop it.

God damn you, Eliza.

You're hurting me even in death.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I can't handle pretending I'm strong, and I can't pretend like the war didn't happen. I can't hide because there's no where to run to, at least not for long. There's no way for me to hide from that fact that Eliza really is dead and Roderich might be as well.

It's like one of those horror movie monsters that stalk the main character. They know it's there, and try to deny it that it is, even if it's breathing on their necks and following their every move. There's no way to escape from it. It's a nightmare, their personal demon, a creature from hell.

My life has turned into a god dammed horror movie, only all the monsters exist in my head. When I look around me, I don't see monsters. Hell, half the time I don't even see people. I see walking corpses, people who are already dead and just going through the motions of living.

It's pathetic, but I'm not one to talk.

I keep thinking about life I had before the war, the life where I argued with the others at the world meetings and drank all of West's beer, where there was always too much food in the refrigerator and Eliza and Roderich to annoy, and for the first time I see why people say you don't know what you had until it's gone.

I would give anything to go back to those times, because even Eliza beating the shit out of me with a frying pan was better than seeing her empty eyes and burying a thousand icy-cold corpses, watching everyone loose a little more hope with each and every passing day.

I can hear West calling for me now. I don't want to go see what he wants just yet. Leaving this tarp and this journal means I have to go out and find more bodies and try and wrap my head around the fact that it really was Elizaveta West just buried, and I'm never going to see her again.

But I have no choice. There's so much I've been forced to give up, and so much I've lost, and so much I'm still going to loose. There's a million dead, and a million missing, and I feel sick to my stomach and so empty and lost. And I just don't want to hang on. I want to just give up.

I'm not going to bother with writing down a stupid warning or blessing, but there is still something I want to say.

Eliza...I'm going to miss you. The world's gone silent without you in it, and now that I know you're gone I'm forced to wonder what the hell I'm living for. There's a million ways I could have told you everything I wanted to, but just couldn't and now...it's too late, and you're gone.

Roderich, if you're dead, maybe you're the lucky one this time around. You'll get to see Eliza, and play your piano all you want, and not have to fight with yourself as you try to remember who the hell you are. And if you're still alive, at least I'll have some company in this hell on earth.

West...I don't know what to say. You're my brother, and my family, and the only person I really have left now, the only reason I haven't killed myself yet.

My chest hurts and my eyes are burning, but West'll kill me if I get any water on this stupid book. I'll just give it to someone else now, because there's nothing left for me to say.

- Prussia

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Author's Note:

Prussia's...so...OC...it kills me...

Anyway, who's next, peeps? England or France?

Also, if you reviewed last chapter, you're awesome, and I hope ya like this one!