Tʜᴇ Isʟᴀɴᴅ Iɴ Bᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ

I Hᴀᴛᴇ Eᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

Any second now. In just a moment the clock would strike 12:00pm, and Russia would wonder why it was that he wasn't able to get out of bed again.

Just wait. It'll only take a second. It's bound to chime eventually. How slow did time move again? Russia couldn't decide if his clock was broken or if time had slowed. It seemed like a lifetime ago he was actually up and out of bed.

Lately he hadn't been trying very hard. Yet he wasn't sure why he felt this way. He had always been gloomy sure, but never to such an extent that he spent the better half of two weeks in bed.

He wanted to get up, he really did, but he couldn't see a reason to. Beyond his bed covers was a waking nightmare. He wasn't able to brush his teeth, cook his own meals, brush his hair, shower or even dress himself. Beyond his bed was him; a living disappointment so useless he couldn't complete even the most menial of tasks.

And Russia didn't want to spend his days being him. So he stayed in bed where it was safe and warm. Where even for just a moment, he was at peace.

Ah, there it is. The mechanical chime of his alarm, reminding him pitifully that he was being lazy again. He had to get up, it was impossible to ignore the terrible smell he excreted, and how roughly his stomach rumbled. He needed to get up, even his clock told him so.

Yet he couldn't. He was too fatigued, too sick. His head was still pounding from his hangover and he felt his heart weighing him down. The Russian groaned, and with a hand balled in a fist, punched the top of his alarm clock to stop it.

He would get up later. It's not like he had any plans that day anyway. He didn't like to make plans anymore, because he knew by the time they came, he wouldn't want to go anymore.

He hadn't even gone to work in the two weeks he had been feeling morose. Yet no one thought to check on him. He hadn't received a single text, call or a knock on his door. They had left him to die alone, and he was surprisingly okay with that.

This is all his life is after all. Staying in bed until his growling stomach forced him up and to the kitchen. He would then eat stale food alone, before downing it all with alcohol, and forgetting his problems.

It was hard to continue like this. He wouldn't openly admit he was lonely, but he knew a friend would do him no harm. Yet it never seemed as though anyone wanted to be his friend. No one really liked him. He felt so alone.

Maybe today was the day he was to fall? To give in, to set himself free. Maybe, this was the day he so longed for.

Russia rubbed his eyes. Then opened them. His bland wooden ceiling greeted him. If only he woke up somewhere else, he wasn't sure he could keep up with much more of this.

He had always hated that wood anyway. It was too loud, and it was too cold. He wished he lived somewhere else, somewhere far away from here, far away from himself.

Yet alas how could he complain? He had everything he had always wanted. But he still couldn't get out of bed. There was no reason to, there was no reason to do anything.

Russia sighed, what a stupid thing to think. Why couldn't he think of something smart for once? Why did he have to be so unbelievably stupid?

There was another meeting again today. It was supposed to be an antiwar consultation to ward off the growing tension between the countries, and yet Russia couldn't even bring himself to show up for it. He hadn't gone to the last one, or the one before that, he hadn't left his home in two weeks, but still no one seemed to worry.