Country/statehumans Oneshots (requests closed)

✨ way to go, ron ✨

HAVE THIS THING I NEVER FINISHED BUT WANT TO POST ANYWAY

~~~~

It was a quiet evening in the town, as USSR sat on a chair in the front room, in front of the fireplace. a light smell of smoke filled the air, not just from the burning dry logs, but from the cigar the russian had lighted and was taking drags from.

One ankle kicked over the other, he relaxed back into his wooden rocking chair, the same one he'd sit in while he had little Russia in his arms, cooing him to sleep and mumbling russian lullabies with his rough and scraggly tone.

Oh, how times had changed and taken a toll on the man.

He found a letter earlier that year, accompanied by his crying children and a missing son.

He kept rereading it. He couldn't seem to put it down.

It was written in russian, with the same neat handwriting he'd taught and trained his oldest to use.

"Father, I do not apologize for my actions. I am not here to make you feel better about your lifestyle or the way you have treated me and my brothers and sister. You are not the man I wish any child to have for a father, nor a husband, or friend for that matter.

Do not put words into my mouth nor remove any when others ask where I am - I am in the military, away from you, and away from your vile treatment. I wish I could have gotten my siblings out of there before I was gone.

In the military I will only gain scars to accompany the ones you left on me. Physically, emotionally and mentally.

I do not wish to hear from you. I only wish to receive letters from my siblings, or people that I hold close. You are not one of them.

I will not return any time soon. Unless you fall ill with a disease, or a condition from which you cannot recover - to which I will take care of my siblings until they can support themselves.

I wish nothing to do with you, or the scandals and lies you're involved in. 

You've left me a hollow of who I could have been. Everywhere I turn, people look at me, and see you. I cannot live with the burden of what you've done on my shoulders.

Perhaps soon your faults and failures will catch up to you - but I will never feel sorry.

I will never forget what you've done to me.

I will not forgive what you did to mother.

- Your first son, and the one you fucked up most."

He found himself constantly reading the words, trying to find even one positive thing in them - but, yet, he found nothing.

He blew out the smoke past his lips and sighed with his scratchy voice.

Eyes watering, but mainly from the smoke of which he created from his mouth, he took a plaster ashtray and smashed the end of the cigar into it to put it out.

His mind flashed with sour memories.

- " papa, please, let me go! "

the sizzling of a cigarette against cold skin, and the wails of a seven year old boy, whom had done nothing wrong, followed by choking sobs of terror. -

oh, how badly he had messed up.

he'd only started seeing his actions recently, shortly after Russia had turned eighteen.

- "Father, get your hands off of Sakhalin right now! I refuse to let you continue doing this to them!"

It was the first time Russia had ever fought back against his dad, and the first time he'd ever had the courage to defend his siblings. The first time he hit Soviet back, to assure his brother he wouldn't let it happen again. -

Russia was nineteen now, and had hardly spent a year in the army. USSR was expecting him to not last more than a few months and come back. But one thing he unfortunately got from his mother was the ability to stay persistent.

The russian sighed and say the ashtray back where he obtained it.

It was a small little tray made of plaster and clay, given to him by Russia.

- "look, papa, i made you a tray in school! I know how much you like to smoke." -

oh, he was so little and innocent. why couldn't he have stayed that way? 

if only he hadn't become a drunkard and ruined his children's lives - maybe then they wouldn't hate him.