I received the news before anyone else. And why wouldn't? I was his brother after all, but I was old enough to be his father. How could the little brat could was gone, dead….

I had never liked the little brat much, he was rude and stubborn, and he never showed me any respect. He called me a jerk and a fag, the kid was nuisance that couldn't keep his mouth shut. So why the hell was I missing him?

I was to go to the morgue and check if it was really him; of course it was, why else would they call me. Still I secretly hoped it wasn't really him. That this was just a huge mistake and that Sealand was still in his fort complaining about not being a real country.

Of course my heart sank when I finally got to the actual morgue. The stench of death mixed with chemicals and covered up by some air freshener. I could see all the people there, most had solemn faces or tears running down there face. I sat there, emotionless; I could never be open about how I felt, because I'm not even sure what I'm even feeling.

They call my name and take me downstairs, where they keep the bodies. The room is like a steel cage, it locks me in with its eerie aura. The corner came to a metal door in the wall, and then opened it.

My worst fears rolled into the corpse In front of me. Sealand laid there, his skin pale and bluish, he was unmoving. My youngest brother; Peter didn't breath, didn't speak, and he didn't move. The little brat had been reduced to this….

"Mr. Kirkland, is this your brother?" The coroner asked me.

"Yes," I answer, but it didn't feel like the body in front of me could ever be the Peter I knew. I wanted this to be anyone else right now, a stranger that I'd never met.

"Here," He handed me letter. "It's a suicide note," he said.

Suicide, that's a word I hadn't expected to hear. I never thought that he could ever do that to himself. Why wasn't anyone watching him…?

I knew why, because I should've been watching him, no one else, I'm responsible for my brother. This meant I was responsible for his death.

I don't want to attend Peter's funeral, I'll be too busy dealing with my guilt and shame. But if I didn't go it would just add insult to injury. So I went and sat through prayers and solemn faces. There weren't many there.

Besides me there were the Baltic nations, Russia, America, and China. America was only here because he wanted to comfort me, but I was beyond comfort. The Baltic's were here because of their youngest brother. He had been Sealand's friend; the poor little country was crying his eyes out. His loud sobs echoed throughout the small chapel. Russia was only here to watch them, make sure his precious little countries didn't escape. And China, well China always went to funerals of countries, even if Sealand wasn't exactly a country.

They finally lay Peter into the ground and I still haven't cried, not even one tear. I didn't feel like questioning it, I didn't care about anything. Instead of caring, I drank. Six bottles of beer went into my system, but I didn't get mad or start acting stupid like I usually do. It was like all the booze I'd ingested had just made me sadder.

I wobbled back to my house and sat at the desk in my work room. My hands made their way to the small pistol in the drawer. This was what I wanted…to be dead at my desk?

Well the alcohol fueled my want to end it all. So I pressed the barrel to my temple, my hands shook but I wasn't going to back out now. I wouldn't write a note full of meaning like Peter had, I didn't deserve to leave any of my thoughts behind.

I knew the gun was full, so I only had to pull the trigger once, lucky me. One Pull and it was all over. I couldn't see it but I knew my blood had gotten all over the wall. Blood, it was all over the place, and I was already heading for the other side. I hope Alfred doesn't hate me for being a coward. I hope France doesn't think me weak. I hope…I hope I find my brother, where ever I'm going.