The day of the battle was clear and sunny. We set up on the edge of the battleground and prepared our weapons. Turkey had specified that each country only use five hundred men each in the battle. We spread out in a neat line with all of the countries that would be fighting on my side. My army stood in the very middle of the line with Germany and Canada on either side of me.
The countries met up briefly before the battle to discuss any last minute tactics, then we were ready to battle. I heard a cannon's boom in the distance, the signal of the start of the war.
Both sides charged at each other, swords flashing and bullets spraying everywhere. I tried to only hit the enemy's men in specific places so that they would be wounded and not killed. My bayonet clashed with a soldier's from Turkey's army. I shot him in the leg so he would fall, and fought on.
Up ahead of me I saw Canada stab a soldier in the leg and then shoot another in the arm. Like me, he was aiming to wound, and not kill. Most didn't realize how vicious and determined Canada was in battle. During World War II he showed a lot of courage and strength when France led the invasion on Italy and Germany. He never stood back during a battle, he was always on the front lines.
I saw my brother start fighting with another soldier whose mask glinted in the sun, I realized he was battling hand in hand with Turkey, the cause of all of my troubles at the moment. Canada was trying to shoot Turkey in a place that wasn't vital but that would hurt enough to keep him from fighting, but Turkey kept blocking all of his attempts. Finally Canada had an advantage and shot the Turk in the leg, he fell to the ground.
Canada saw me out of the corner of his eye and turned around to smile at me, signaling that all was well. I felt a temporary rush of relief. Then the bayonet plunged into his stomach.
His face twisted into an expression of surprise and then pain. He crumpled to the ground, blood spurting everywhere.
"NO!" I screamed. I ran forward and shot Turkey in the head. I kneeled beside Canada and threw myself over him, defending him from and further injury. He was losing blood at an alarming rate and his breaths were coming faster and faster.
"PLEASE,GOD, NO!" I started crying, tears dripping all over my brother's blood-coated face. He looked up at me with a scared expression.
"A-Al. . .I-I love you," he sputtered out.
"NO! YOU'RE NOT GONNA DIE! YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN'T DIE!" I screamed.
"Gonna. . .die. . .pain. . .too much. . ." he moaned. I did the only thing I could thing of, I pressed our foreheads to each other and, in the middle of a battle, whispered to him.
"I love you ,Mathew Williams, I always will. P-Please. . .don't leave me, I don't know what I'll do without you."
"I'm sorry," I heard him respond.
I tried to keep our eyes locked but eventually his eyelids fell closed. His breathing slowed and eventually stopped. I pressed my hand to his chest and felt nothing, my brother was dead.
No one noticed me amidst the fighting, hugging a dead body and wishing for him to come back. I don't remember much of what happened after that. I do remember Germany forcibly pulling me from my twin's body and lugging me through the desert to our base. I remember Austria telling me we had won the battle, and therefore the war. I remember Greece telling me that his lifelong enemy, Turkey was dead. And finally I remember returning to my house where I sat for hours just staring at the wall.
If you have never lost a person that you loved, let me tell you, it's a terrible feeling. I didn't sleep, didn't eat, and didn't pay attention to anything that was going on around me. Days passed and soon the funeral would be the next day. I had many thoughts about what to do now that my brother was dead and I decided on one solution in specific, a permanent solution.