Disclaimer: I still do not own neither Hetalia nor the Hunger Games, as much as I wish I did.
Three months. That was how long it took for things to go from already awful to complete Hell. How long it took for the people to protest in anger, about how their government wasn't helping them, how they needed it. That anger had turned to rage, and the rage had turned to rioting. Rioting turned to bloodshed. Bloodshed turned to fighting. Fighting turned to civil war. Three months was all it took.
The country had yet to completely collapse, but it was balancing on the edge. Anyone could see that. It was simply a matter of how long. How long before it was all gone. How long before it was all torn loose.
The fighting had left the land devastated. Fallen bombs had left gaping craters all over. Small towns had been completely wiped off the map. Larger cities had survived some of the damage, but their buildings and skyscrapers were only shells, testaments to what they had once been. These cities and towns, once bustling with life and noise, were as silent and unmoving as the grave.
There was no one. The people were gone. All that stood were the shells.
America stood in front of the large window, watching as the snow fell lightly. It would come down harder, he was sure. Amazing how much it snowed up here. Even more than D.C.
The American sighed and leaned his forehead against the window. He didn't like it here. It wasn't D.C. That was his capital, ever since the beginning. He had hoped they would return to it soon, but after it had been completely bombed out, there wasn't much of that hope anymore. It wasn't right.
But then, nothing was right these days, was it? How could anything be right when it was the end of the world? At least that was the way he saw it.
The doors banged open, jarring the nation from his thoughts. He turned quickly to see a young and frightened man run in. "Mr. America!" he shouted. "We need to leave, now! The rebels have gained access to the base! They're coming ri-"
He speech was rather abruptly cut off by a thrown knife that suddenly and violently tore through his throat, spraying blood. His body fell, the red dripping from him, staining the white carpet around him.
America was frozen, rooted to where he stood. He knew he should run. Run for help or run away, it didn't matter. He just needed to get out of there. But he couldn't. All he could do was stare at the body on the floor. It wasn't like he hadn't seen death before, but this was so sudden, so quick.
All this raced through America's mind as a knife raced for him, and stuck him in the center of his chest.
"England, will you sing for me? Please?" the young America asked, with huge, adorable, pleading eyes. It always made him so happy to hear his brother sing.
England smiled contentedly. "Alright. I suppose I can. What song do you want to hear?" he asked softly.
"I like the meadow song."
The older nation drew in a breath, and began to sing a soft, sweet lullaby.
"Deep in the meadow, under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,
Lay down your head, and close your eyes,
And when they open, the sun will rise,
Here it's safe, and here it's warm,
And here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true,
Here is the place where I love you."
Yes, I totally played the "Rue's Lullaby" card. I had to.
On a different note, I'm back you guys! I have been so busy, you wouldn't believe it. Or maybe I was procrastinating more than I should have, I don't know. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter, I just happened to have an idea in the middle of class and wrote it out. Oh well. And I have some idea for the next chapter, so hypothetically, it should be up sometime next week. Hypothetically. But ya know, procrastination is a bitch.
Thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter: Canadatheninja, aquagirl28, zoewinter1, and TooBitter.
And of course, thanks you to my followers/favoriters.
Grazie per la lettura!
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