Deplore: verb. To regret deeply or strongly; lament
America wasn't sure how the conversation turned so dark.
The air grew thicker by the second; it wouldn't be long before it suffocated him. He was frozen; the only thing he moved was his eyes. They flicked back and forth staring at the nations who sat stiff in front of him. They bit their lip, fists clenched and unclenched, eyes darting nervously. They were all thinking the same thing as him. How did this come up?
Regret.
It was a topic Nations avoided like they did the plague. It brought up to many memories, memories they tried to bury.
Finally their darting eyes landed on England. He realized with a quick shiver he would be the first. He looked to the side, staring at nothing but the floor. America already knew what he would say. England liked to pretend his days on the sea never happened. America was so excited to hear about his adventures as a pirate once. Then England told him the truth. He told him about the death, the innocent blood spilt, how they laughed at the screams for mercy, the burning remains of the towns they grew bored with, the tears of the women they stole, how the water was stained red. England chuckled mirthlessly.
"The things we did make many of today's criminals look like saints." He muttered as his figures twitched his knee.
Their eyes fell on Russia, who smiled sweetly.
"As long as it allows everyone to become one with mother Russia sooner, I regret nothing." Even so America saw him fiddle with the scarf that sits at the base of his neck. Right where America knew the star and sickle are burned into his skin.
Japan shifted his eyes nervously to his Asian family, Korea, Taiwan, china. He quickly looks back in front of him.
France whispered to himself and he wiped a tear from his eyes. "My sweet Jeanne." Sometimes he still pictured her youthful, optimistic face. It helped him move on when he was ready to stop. If only he could see her one more time.
Germany said nothing. He simply touched his forearm lifelessly. It spoke much more than words, they all knew the scar that was hidden there.
Canada stared at his lap, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry America." He chocked. "I'm so sorry." America softly traced the scar that rest right over his heart. America knew he was the one who forced Canada to do that. But Canada never listened.
Italy was strangely quiet; he clung to Romano's side as he whimpered. Romano himself glared angrily at the wall, muttering curses. "…Spanish jerk… French…essere fottuto...Roman Empire….Cazzo."
Spain had long left the room; the voices where too much for him to bear.
China stared out the window with glossed over eyes. America wondered how much regret he collected over 400 years. Years and years, he wondered what China regretted most. But China continued to stare out the window, lost in the memories.
Finally their eyes landed on America. He tensed up before slowly opening his mouth.
"Just skip over him; he's too young to have any regrets." A Nation said.
America closed his mouth. He almost laughed at how stupid that sentence was. Of course he has regrets.
He regrets having to see England's broken face as he cried in the mud.
He regrets seeing the dead bodies pile up as he forced his native people out of their homes.
He regrets watching father and son, brother and brother kill each other.
He regrets disobeying his people's first wishes by getting involved with European problems.
He regrets not joining the World Wars sooner and having to see the shells his fellow Nations had become.
He regrets watching his people starve.
He regrets letting his people live in fear of that commie.
He regrets not saving the people the people in the tower.
He was young but he still had regrets. He looked at the Nations before him and slowly he grinned.
"Of course I don't, I'm the hero! Hero's don't have regrets!"
The other Nations automatically began to insult and mock him but he could hear the relief under their tones. They needed him to say that. They needed someone who doesn't regret, someone who looks to the future instead of the past.
He regrets he could only pretend to be that person.
Woot! It was on time! I actually lost the original draft for this chapter; it was so much better than this. The historical stuff is probably not that accurate, I did much of this off stuff I remember from the top of my head. So sorry in advance. Thanks for the reviews and stuff. Next one will involve Poland! I hope.
Review n' Stuff please