Syria lies on the ground solemn, as her black locks cover the flat white surface. She had been like that for a while. Ever since her existence went spiralling out of control. Tired of it all, she let out one painful sigh before standing up and starting to dance. Her moves were graceful, a mix of ballet with twirls and jumps which gave her the appearance of a delicate flower moved by the wind.
Iraq is nearby but completely ignores her moving performance. Slouched in a chair and overwhelmed with his own troubles, he stares into the distance.
Jordan passes, wanting to walk by at first. On second glance he changes his mind and stops to observe. With his eyebrows touching he asks confused: "What is the reason for such a festive sight?"
Syria extends her arms and swirls once more with a solemn look on her face. "I'm sad" she blurts in between.
"Then why are you dancing?" Jordan repeats slowly, none the wiser.
The girl puffs stopping. ""I can't be lying down all the time. If I keep smouldering any longer my muscles will go numb from inactivity."
Iraq glances at her curious. Jordan shrugs. "Makes sense" the well-to-do nation concludes.
She continues on grabbing the attention from the rest of her neighbours. Pretty soon everyone around her comes to enjoy her dance. Even Iran takes notice, nodding his head. "What solemn yet graceful steps" he remarks. Lebanon nods in agreement. "I wish I could express my emotion in that way."
"Oh please" Israel scoffs. "If she was really that sad, she wouldn't be here leaping around like on springs."
Turkiye rolls his eyes. He is, for once, partial to this entire situation. "I've seen better" he mutters just to say something.
Syria grows nervous from all the staring eyes. "Can't a girl dance in peace?" she frowns at them.
Jordan smiles sympathetically at her. "Dear Syria. We are all friends here. Why don't you tell us what is troubling you?"
She sighs and takes a deep breath. "Well, it's was not enough that I was in a devastating war and that there is a civil war going on still. With all that I had to suffer constant thefts of a greedy maniac."
"And what maniac is that?" Lebanon asks side-glancing the nervous Iraq.
The girl spots someone and points. "That one?" she declares.
All the boys turn their heads. America is caught with a huge bag of oil barrels on his back tiptoeing out. Seeing he is noticed, he freezes as if pretending to be a statue. When that doesn't work, he titters through his closed lips: "Nothing to see here."
"Get him!" Iran yells pointing, before the four boys ran towards him. America yelps before being chases away by the gang.