By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. My dad was declared dead the moment they got there. He had lost too much blood and due to the location of the wound he would've been unlikely to survive anyways. But there was that what if. What if I got there just a bit sooner? What if I left right when I felt something was wrong? What if I went with him to the store and defended him? I blamed myself for my dad's death. Not the man that killed him, myself.
I sat next to my brother and sister at the front seat at the funeral. My dad's arms were crossed and holding his hammer and sickle so you couldn't even see the bullet wound. He just looked like he was peacefully sleeping. Several tears began to flow down my face. My siblings tried to comfort me but it was to no avail. My dad always told me to be tough and hold back my tears even when times got hard. I was not holding back my tears. I was not being tough.
"I'm so sorry Ruski." I heard a voice come from behind me. I turned around and it was my half brother Kazakhstan. He was one of those rectangular countries and really the only one of my half siblings I hung out with.
"Hic........he was.........he was............" I could barely talk through my crying but I had to stop since the sermon was starting. Bel quickly handed me her handkerchief and I quickly buried my face in it. I hated when other countries saw me like this.
"Today we say goodbye to the USSR, loving father..................." I could barely pay attention through how much I was trying to remain silent. A couple of countries came up to give speeches.
"I barely knew my dad.............." Kazakhstan mumbled. "But I wish I knew him more. He sounded like a very strong and very tough man. Some of my dad's comrades stood up and saluted. A few minutes later Ukraine went.
"I know my dad wasn't perfect but I do thank him for his strength and for raising me and my siblings. I know he didn't push me into nuclear waste on purpose anyways." Oh yeah, that happened while we were on a hunting trip. I ended up sneaking off road and I brought Bel and Ukraine into it. I decided it would be a good idea to explore an abandoned nuclear power plant. Dad found out and he chased after us. He yanked me and Bel and started screaming and he pushed Ukraine. He didn't realize there was a barrel of nuclear waste and Ukraine fell into it. A wing radiated out of his back and he had to be rushed to the hospital. My dad was not happy with the medical bill.
Belarus went next and said a few words and then it was my turn to go. I tried to speak but no words came out of my mouth. Only tears. But eventually I managed to speak.
"Dad was...........the only country that ever really cared for me. He helped me through so many things and helped me defeat my enemies. Dad was awesome. Dad was............my comrade. Why!?!?!?!? Why did he have to leave so soon!?!?!!?" If I was his oldest son then why was I crying the most!?!?!?! Was I really that weak!?!?!? I know my other siblings weren't as fond of dad..........but still.
Eventually everyone was done their speeches and the coffin was about to close.
"Wait!!!!!!!!!" Babushka shouted, running as fast as an old lady could. Then she stopped at me. "I was going through Soviet's journals. I found one entry that said when Russia got old enough...............he was going to give him this." She took my dad's favorite ushanka off of his head and placed it on mine. It was a little big on me but it's warmth comforted me. I always loved that hat. Sometimes dad would place it on my head or I would take it from him. But I didn't know he wanted me to have it. "We were going to bury him in it.............but something tells me he wanted this more." For the first time in hours my tears stopped flowing. It made me so warm inside and I decided I was never gonna take it off.
I never fully recovered from the death of my father. Whatever was left of my family began blaming me for my dad's death. Even my siblings began to turn on me. As a result I began to drink my dad's favorite drink, vodka. I knew I was too young to drink it but I just didn't care. The only thing that could take away the pain was that satisfying burn, and when I would get too drunk I would just wake up the next day with no memories. My small room began to fall into disrepair and I began having those terrible dreams..................every night Third Reich would strangle me in my sleep. I was so sick of it.
That's also about the time I met China and North Korea. China took pity on me because apparently his parents were drug addicts. And I don't even know what was up with North Korea..............but at the time I trusted them. And I don't know why. North told me to take my anger out on other countries, that if I wanted to feel like I was on top of the totem pole I had to act like it. At first I didn't agree but then those other countries began to bully me. One told me my dad deserved to die because he was an abusive alcoholic.............and that's when I lost it. I punched that country until he bled and fell over.............and then I curb stomped him to the ground.
Unfortunately an army of cops was nearby when that happened. They violently pinned me down to the ground and I felt the cold metal of the handcuffs locked around my wrists. Even my desperate thrashing about was no match for them. They slammed me into the back of the car with no remorse..............and drove me off to this terrible place they called "Juvie." Or as my dad would call it, gulag. He had always warned me of these places, how inhumanely they treated their prisoners.
Most days I was kept in a cold dark cell and was barely given anything to eat. Even though I was used to living off of little food at least dad gave me something. In some cases we were forced to work and given only a piece of bread each day. If any of us stepped out of line we would be beaten with a whip. You thought getting the belt buckle was bad this was even worse. I still have a massive scar on my side from when I was beat.
That wasn't the only game the guards would play though. Sometimes the guards would pit other kids up against each other, just for fun. I was one of their favorite countries to pit in these matches. Even though I was barely out of 8th grade I was already six feet tall. Most of the other prisoners became scared of me. And if one of them was brave enough to stand up to me, let's just say my dad taught me how to fight. At first the guards made me fight older kids, just to see who could win. Although I got injured a couple times I could still overpower them.
Then one day they did something...........interesting. One day the guards gave me a baseball bat and sent me against two other countries. Except these countries barely looked old enough to even be in here.........like ten or eleven. I towered over them like a goliath. But I had grown so numb to violence I didn't even care.
Real men don't show emotions.
Defeat anyone who opposes you.
Only the strongest survive.
I stepped forward slowly and watched as they cowered in fear. I drew the baseball bat and slammed them several times, their blood splattering all over me and the walls. Those countries didn't stand a chance. But all those years of being beaten............and bullied............finally I was on top. I was finally the one watching my enemies bow down before me. The old Russia was gone. The old Russia that only wanted to play dolls and party..............he was a coward. He was a disgrace to the family. I had chosen violence...............and violence had chosen me. I began to forget who I was. That little boy who wanted to go to Mars and build the city of the future..........he was gone. Even when I was eventually released.................even the smallest things would irritate me. I would lash out at other countries, even if I didn't have a reason. I bullied that Poland kid just because he wanted to go into space.............and I knew I could never do it myself. I had bullied America just because he was popular..............and I wasn't. I had become just a shadow of my former self, the very thing I feared the most, and there was no going back.
Or at least that's what I thought. But luckily America saved me from all that. At first I was forced to hang out with him, and yeah I thought he was annoying and egotistical at first. That and he came from a rich capitalist family, the thing my dad warned me against. But yeah even though him and his family were rich, they weren't snobs. They were the only countries besides my siblings in a very long time that were so accepting of me. I enjoyed the warmth and luxury of the house more than I wanted to admit. And most importantly...............Ame saved me from suicide. If it weren't for him I would be dead. He helped to convince me to be myself and to embrace my passions. He even helped me get along with other countries. I want to thank him so much...........but then everyone would tease me and call me gay so haha NOPE!!!!!!!!!