11-16-2012, 03:35 AM
And here are my posts, presented in the order they were written. :3
Canada- Grief
A blonde-haired man sat alone, hunched over the counter of a bar. He'd lost count of the number of beers he had drunk. Matthew grieved for not only his brother, but for himself. Al had meant the world to him.
Yet, even so, it was all his fault his brother was dead.
Al needed him.
Matthew downed another beer, and slammed the empty glass onto the counter. Immersed in his own thoughts, he slammed his fists onto his thighs and began to cry.
How could he have allowed this? How could he have been so passive? Why, if he had stood up for himself, if he had stood up for his brother, then Russia-
Suddenly, a white-haired man with red eyes came up to him and slammed his beer onto the counter. He roughly wrapped his arm around The Canadian's shoulder.
"Matty, I haven't seen you here in forever!" Gilbert proclaimed. "Man, my brother sure has been an ass recently! He always yells at me for being 'unkempt' and 'obnoxious' and 'coming home plastered'." He drunk some of his beer. "I bet your brother has been way worse than mine, right, Matty?!" He said loudly
Matthew clenched his fists and started to shake a little.
Gilbert got into Matthew's face. "Huh?" he shouted, his breath covered with the stench of beer "Did you hear me, Matt?! I asked if your brother is as fucking stupid and annoying as mine!"
Matthew stood up, and with a scream if rage, punched Gilbert in the face as hard as he could. Gilbert went flying. "WHAT THE FUCK, MATT?!" he screeched, a hand over his bruised eye "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!"
The Canadian's tightly-clenched fists shook vehemently in anger. "YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?!" he shouted. He snatched Gilbert's beer glass from the counter and flung it aside; the glass shattering. He approached Gilbert and grabbed him by the shirt collar. "YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT MY FUCKING PROBLEM IS?!" He cried "MY BROTHER IS DEAD, YOU MORON!" he screamed. By this point, he was sobbing again. "AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" He let go of the astonished Prussian. Matthew fell to his knees and gripped the sides of his head, crying uncontrollably.
Russia- Paranoia (Took some Artistic Liberty with this one OTL)
"Napoleon is taking control of Europe!"
Then we shall not allow him to conquer us.
We shall burn our villages; burn our crops.
Many of my people will starve,
But that is the price we must pay.
They will be taking no resources from us.
They will be trapped, we will have them just where we want them....
They'll be stuck in My Land,
the land I know so well,
in the middle of the winter.
We know the terrain,
and they'll be out of supplies.
Many Frenchmen will die on the march back.
They never should have tried to take My Land.
"The Nazis are approaching!"
Then we shall hug their front lines so that they kill their own men when trying to bomb us.
They, too, shall be stuck here in the winter.
They, too, shall run out of supplies.
Many more of my comrades shall die,
but many Germans will die.
They may try,
but no one shall take my land from me.
They may try to avoid the Winter,
but I make them stay.
No one shall take my land from me.
Latvia- Glory
Ravis stood on a ladder, dusting the books in Ivan's library. He was almost finished, and had worked all day on the project.
"Ravis?" a voice down the hall called
He perked up. "I-I'm in here, Mr. Russia!" he said loudly in reply.
"What did you say?" Ivan called back.
Ravis sighed. It seemed he was always too quiet. "I said, I'm in-"
Suddenly, not paying attention to the task at hand, Ravis had lost his balance. He fell off the ladder, bumping a bookshelf in the process..
The boy sat up and watched in horror as all of the bookshelves toppled over in a domino effect.
"No no no no no!" He exclaimed loudly. "If Ivan sees this, why, he'll...."
"Latvia?" Ivan stepped into the library, not paying attention to the scene in front of him "You should really speak up more, I can't hear you from-"
Ivan's jaw dropped and he started to shake in rage. Ravis stood there like a deer in headlights and started to cry. Ivan took a deep breath, but was still frowning. "Clean up this mess, you scum." he said slowly. "Afterwards, I deal with you...." Ivan turned around to leave the room.
Latvia sucked up his tears. No, he wouldn't be subject to him.... He wasn't going to get punished for something so unimportant! Ivan never even read these books! Why should he have to suffer?! Why couldn't Ivan help him, for once? He already had so many bruises all over... His brothers were already dead, and now he was going to die, too, after a wasted effort?!
Ravis frowned "No." he said quietly.
Ivan turned around to face the boy. "What?" he asked
Ravis bit his lip. No, he couldn't back out now. "No." he said at a normal volume.
Ivan walked up to him and grabbed his shoulders. "I just told you to speak the fuck up! I can't hear you when you mumble! If you have something to say, then say it!" he shouted, angry with the Latvian.
The boy frowned. "I said, no!" he shouted at Ivan.
Ivan punched him in the face. "No, what?!" he asked angrily
"No, I'm not going to clean up these books!"
"Why not?!" Ivan questioned "You dare to defy me?! Don't you remember what happened to your brothers?"
Ravis punched Ivan in the stomach. The larger man doubled over. "I'm not going to die for nothing! They died for nothing, but I will die a martyr!"
Ivan kept frowning. "Do you truly want to die?"
Ravis glared up at him. "I will if I have to. The world has to see just how cruel you are. You starve your own people. You starve us. You force your culture upon us."
Ivan punched him again. "I am the strongest nation in the world!" he proclaimed.
Ravis punched him back. "You won't be after I tell everyone what you've done!"
Ivan put down his fist and from his jacket removed a pistol. "You really want to die, huh?"
The boy glared up at him in silence. His face was still red from when he cried, and he lifted his middle finger to the sky.
Bang.
Lithuania- Trigger
Toris stood in his room, pacing. He put his pistol into his pocket. He had to execute the plan sooner or later. He went through it in his head.... He had to wait until the right time.
He heard a knock on the door. "Toris?" Called a familiar voice "Have you already made dinner?"
Toris put on his usual obedient expression, took a deep breath, and opened the door. He looked up to see Ivan. "Yes, I made it earlier." He made it in advance to protect himself from Ivan's rage. "Good." Ivan went to the kitchen, and Toris followed him. Toris had left him a bottle of vodka with his meal.
Later in the night, it became very child, and a blizzard raged on outside. A drunken Ivan had told Toris to fetch him some blankets, so he obeyed. He brought them to Ivan. Ivan snatched them from him and wrapped himself in them. Toris only had his military jacket, which didn't help much to fend if the cold. He shivered, and tried to sit next to Ivan. "And what the hell do you think you're doing?!" He exclaimed.
Toris was about to stand, but it was then that he understood. Now was the perfect opportunity to carry out his plan!
The Lithuanian took the gun out and pointed it at Ivan. "No." He said
Ivan frowned and stood up. "You're threatening me over fucking blankets?!" He exclaimed
Toris stood up with him. "It's so cold! But that isn't the point, you stupid drunkard!"
Ivan pushed him. "Then what is?!"
Toris tried to push Ivan back, but it didn't go so well as he'd hoped. Ivan responded by punching Toris in the face. He opened the door and shoved Toris out it. The Lithuanian slipped on the icy stone steps and fell into the snow. He was barraged by the falling snow, and during the fall, he had lost his gun. He scrambled to look for it. Ivan pulled out his pipe from his jacket and hit Toris' side with it. "No way to fight back now, huh?!" Toris crumpled back into the snow and found the gun. He pointed it at Ivan again. "Your tyranny is over. No more people have to die!" He shouted bravely.
Ivan laughed, and hit Toris with the pipe again. "You're not actually going to do it! You're too much of a weakling! You can't kill me; I own you!" He laughed. He dropped the piotr and pulled out his own pistol.
Ruler and subject, guns pointed at one another. Both pairs of eyes were locked on each other.
The gears of the pistols shifted as two fingers simultaeneously pulled their triggers.
Two shots rang through the air.
One man screamed in pain, the other's lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Ivan was dead, and Toris gripped his stomach. Ivan had missed, but Toris hit Ivan's heart. He fell to his knees, and the cold snow burned his unprotected body. Red stained the white snow. He was going to die here, huh? He started to cry. It didn't even matter that it was a waste of water. It wasn't like anyone lived nearby, and Ivan had no medical supplies.
Denmark- Alone
"NO! I'M NOT GOING TO PUT UP WITH YOUR CRAP ANYMORE, MATHIAS!" Berwald screamed.
Mathias' eyes widened. "But we're a family! We have to stick together, Ber!"
Berwald lunged for Mathias with his sword, and Mathias blocked him with his axe. "Right? We have to stick together!" he said again. The two stood deadlocked.
"FAMILY DOESN'T HURT ONE ANOTHER!" Berwald yelled
"THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?!" Mathias shouted back
Berwald flinched a little, and The Iron sliced his arm. His sword clanged onto the floor. He picked up the sword with his left hand. "I'm not staying, Mathias. I'm leaving. You have no power over me anymore."
Berwald began to walk away. Tino followed him. "No!" Mathias shouted "I won't allow it!"
Berwald turned around. "Then what are you going to do about it?" he asked, glaring at Mathias. He continued to head for the door. He opened it, went outside, Tino following, and slammed the door.
Mathias' jaw dropped and he dropped his axe to the ground. He fell to his knees. Now everyone was gone; it was just him in this house. No longer were they the tight-knit family of Vikings they used to be. Norway and Iceland both wanted to journey on their own, and Tino and Berwald wanted to escape him. He started to cry quietly, his shoulders shaking.
Poland- Escape
Feliks sprinted for dear life through the burning streets. No, no, no! This could not be happening! Germany attacking him?! He was a dead man if he didn't get away!
He'd have to call Russia! Yeah, Russia would help him!
Suddenly, a bullet hit his leg. Feliks screamed in pain and crumpled to the ground. A lone soldier approached him: Ludwig. Feliks tried to scamper away, but his wounds would not permit. "L-LUDWIG, THERE'S NO WAY YOU CAN WIN!" Feliks shouted "I'M GOING TO CALL IVAN! HE'LL KICK YOUR ASS!" He threatened frantically; desperately.
Despite his threats, Ludwig continued to approach at the same pace. "ARE YOU NOT AFRAID OF HIM?!" Feliks shouted in despair. 'Please leave, please leave, PLEASE LEAVE!' He screamed internally.
"Look behind you." Ludwig said clearly and slowly in a monotone.
Feliks swallowed and turned his head. Russian tanks were advancing. No, no no no no NO! Feliks began to cry as bullets hit his nonvitals, and he raised his arms weakly into the sky. Warsaw had fallen.
Canada- Jealousy
So many of his comrades were dying on the field of battle. So many victories were possible thanks to him and his men.
Yet, who got all of the glory?
Alfred.
Whose efforts were mistaken to be those of The British?
Matthew.
He was always taken for granted by everyone. No one cared about him, no, it was all about his brother. His brother was a major world power, yet Matthew was always ignored by everyone. He wished someone would be his friend. He wished someone would thank him for all the hard work he had done. He wished someone would mourn over the deaths of his troops. He wished monuments were built for the Canadians lost in wars.
But, no, it was all about Alfred.
So he thought as he sat alone in his home, drinking away his problems.
Russia- Scalpel
The Germans had been in Stalingrad for a few months now. It was the middle of the winter, with bone-chilling temperatures. The Germans were out of supplies, and they had no hope left. Ivan and The Russians, however, stood their ground. So many had died on both sides, as well as civilians, but they couldn't give up yet. In the suburbs, a small firefight had broken out. Ivan had gotten involved, and killed a few Germans. A bullet hit his lower leg and he fell to his knees, and he grit his teeth, but continued to shoot.
He killed a few more Germans, and soon the fighting in that area was done.... for now. Ivan tried to get through the snow into a nearby abandoned building by dragging his body. A German soldier appeared and held up his gun to shoot at Ivan. Shit. Ivan shot the man, who fell to the ground dead. He entered the building. He found a scalpel on the floor and snatched it up. It was covered in dirt, but Ivan wiped on his coat. It was probably pretty fucking dirty, but he really didn't care. He needed to take the bullet out quickly. He'd already done this a few times, but he had to use other means of getting it out. Ivan ripped his trousers so that he had a clear view of the wound. ood, the bullet wasn't too far in. He grit his teeth and put the scalpel into the wound. His leg screamed in pain, and Ivan grit his teeth. More blood was gushing from the wound. Ivan maneuvered the scalpel around the bullet desperately, trying to remove the bullet. Dammit! It was being so stubborn! tears escaped his eyes, but he wiped his tears. It was so painful, but now was not the time to cry. He continued to try and remove the bullet from his leg, but it was refusing to come loose. More blood. Ivan frantically tried to wrench the bullet out. By this point he was breathing quickly and heavily. God, if someone was to find him here.... He threw the scalpel across the room, which landed with a clang. He tried to get the bullet out with his fingers. It finally came out after countless failed attempts, and he put it down beside him. Ivan tore the cut parts of his trousers, and wrapped it around the wound. He crawled to the other side of the room, away from the entrance of the building, picking up the scalpel. It seemed he was stuck here for a while. He held the scalpel in his hands and wiped its bloody blade on his coat. He could probably use it later, or throw it if he ran out of bullets. It certainly wasn't going to do much, as it wasn't a pocket knife or anything, but it could at least do something.....
North Italy- Longing
Feliciano was, for once, sweeping the house. Ludwig had been really busy in the past weeks, so he'd decided to help him. After finishing the larger rooms, he flopped onto the couch. He was so tired and hungry and bored. He'd propped the broom against the couch, and was looking at it with heavy eyes. He fell asleep there.
"Holy Rome, wait!" The boy called out. "I want you to have this!" He held out a broom to a boy in a black cloak. The child took it and marched off. "Italia... I'll never forget you!"
Feliciano awoke suddenly and rubbed his eyes, then looked at the broom again. Could it really be the same one?
((Next Prompt: War))
Last edited by kolmoi; 11-16-2012 at 03:53 AM..
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