Hello, Narwhals! Ugh... I'm so sorry I haven't done a chapter in WEEKS, but I've had so much work to do, and I just haven't had the time. So sorry about that, but hopefully this chapter'll be pretty exciting. Enjoy... Mwahahahaha!
Norway didn't think to pack anything. His heart was thumping against his ribs and a high, dull whining was filling his ears as he pulled on a coat and slung the rifle over his shoulder.
Prussia's body was gone. Only a smear of blood halfway down the stairs marked the fact that he had ever lain there at all: that and the blank, deadened expression on his brother's face.
Norway left without another word, leaving the stench of death and grief to fester behind him.
As soon as he stepped out of the door, he began to run.
The ground was slippery with mud and rain, and twice he fell, his hands sinking up to the wrists in the churned-up mess of earth and water. Tree branches whipped his face as he staggered past, shielding his eyes against a blinding light that hovered at the edge of his vision.
(shining bright like the sun, like a star burning, dying, explosions and death and pain)
Sounds boomed unnaturally loud; the mud on his hands seemed to thicken and turn red before his eyes. The Nordic pin that held back his fringe was gone, and his hair hung loose and matted around his face. Several times he thought he heard a snarl; a growl close by, but when he spun around, ripping the gun from his back, the path he had sliced through the tall grass was empty.
As he ran, he thought.
His brain whirled and spun like an over-wound clock, and disconnected thoughts fluttered around his head like caged birds - moving, moving, always moving.
(like birds, birds, fluttering like birds, around and around and around forever and ever and ever)
I'm going insane, a voice whispered. I'm going insane. Please let it be a dream. Please let me wake up and find myself at home, with Sweden and Denmark and Finland and Iceland all around me, and a cup of karsk in my hand.
'Please,' he heard himself whimper. His voice sounded weak and pathetic: not the usual monotone he was used to.
(most scared I've ever been, a thing of darkness and pain and white bulging eyes)
A branch sliced across Norway's face and he felt hot blood trickle down his cheek. The voices in his head were getting louder; more persistent. A dull ache was growing steadily behind his eyes, and the white light at the corner of his eye was becoming brighter.
(cracked and bloodstained, the lenses shattered, blue eyes staring sightlessly)
'Stop!' Norway cried, forcing his legs to move faster, trying to escape from the cacophony of voices clamouring to be heard. 'Stop it!'
(white ribbon drenched with blood, the ends frayed and ripped, stained with death and agony)
'Leave me alone!' Norway screamed, tearing the branches away from his face and feeling lacerations mar the tender flesh of his hands.
(the head split apart, the jaw splintered, eyes wide and staring and drowning in pain)
Norway felt his lungs expel an inhuman shriek into the sharp air as he threw himself sideways, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his nails ripping his face so ragged gashes opened up his cheek and -
'Norway?'
Norway hit the ground and noticed instantly that it was not moss or grass, but concrete. He must have found a way out of the forest and come across a road.
(death and grief and anger close behind, attacking any who come near, carving scars into history)
'Get away!' Norway screamed, scrambling to his feet and stumbling backwards, the rifle shaking as he aimed it towards the voice.
'Whoa, hold on there, old boy. I'm not going to hurt you.'
His eyes focused on the small figure that was standing a few metres away, watching him closely. The thick eyebrows were enough to confirm his suspicions.
'Stay away from me, Britain!' he yelled, lurching drunkenly away.
The nation was observing him carefully, his hands held up. 'Calm down, Norway. I'm not going to hurt you,' he repeated, taking a step closer.
'You're going to die if you don't get away from me!' Norway screamed. 'You don't understand!'
(killing everything in its wake, destroying and ripping and tearing apart flesh and bone and muscle)
'Alright,' Britain said slowly, 'alright. I won't come any closer.'
(spilling blood until the rivers and streams flow red, until the rain falls crimson)
Norway turned and staggered back into the shelter of the trees.
He ran, trying to ignore the yell that rent the silence seconds later; the sounds of ripping flesh and the snapping of bone.
(dead, just like the others, torn by pain before their lives were extinguished, drowning, drowning, drowning)
Something was moving behind him. Norway bit back a sob as he crashed through the undergrowth, plants catching at his legs, the fabric of his trousers tearing as thorns snagged them, and -
(soon you'll be dead, just like the others, torn by pain before your life is extinguished, drowning, drowning, drowning)
- his back exploded with pain and he fell, feeling blood soak instantly through his shirt, thick and sticky and glutinous and -
(never see the sunrise again, never see rain fall, never see beauty or happiness or joy)
- his throat was torn apart, the windpipe wrenched from his neck, arteries severed so blood spurted onto the ground, making the moss glisten wetly and -
(the last moments of pain and darkness and shadow, those white eyes staring as the life leaves your body and -)
- Norway died.
Dun dun duuuuuun! Don't worry, that's not the end of the story - Norway will be back for more fun and games soon. I hope you liked it: if you did, drop a review and I will be most thankful! :D