America watched disinterestedly as England gathered some stuff and started to clean and wrap his wounds. It didn't matter what he did, in about a week he would be doing the same thing again. He needed to do this and he understood. Understood that Arthur didn't understand. When the bandages were wrapped and England saw that he was safely in bed, he was left alone while the other went to get his stuff. After a few minutes of staring emptily at the ceiling, he slid out of bed onto the floor.
He slid his hand slowly, ever so slowly over the carpet. It might be stupid, stupid, oh so stupid to say, but out of everything in the world, every nation, country, person, or thing, this carpet was the one he hated the most. Oh, how he hated the pure pure white innocent carpet. He smiled as he glanced at the dark brown not brown, red red red from the blood dripping down his arm corner. The one blemish on the perfect carpet. The one stain on the innocence that ruined the whole thing. With that one stain sitting there, the carpet was no longer oh so pure and perfect and everything he wasn't. It was just like him, stained and ruined and dirtied.
The carpet was so so so white like freshly fallen snow
It was so soft under his hand, soft and white and cold, oh so cold melting under his hand but how was that possible when he felt so so cold himself
He felt a smile blooming on his face as he glanced at the corner again and saw the red red blood, all that blood, everywhere, dead bodies littering and destroying it with their pretty pretty red blood.
He lifted his hand to his face and saw a brown glove brown and big big big leading down to the tan tan coat sleeve
And he laughed, laughed so loud, and so so hard that tears came to his eyes but no they weren't tears, they were tears of red red so preciously red blood
Soon though the laughter turned into sobs. Hard and breathtaking because he had killed them, his children were dead and it was all his fault. He was the one that shot them afterall because he knew, he really did, that he was going insane. And he didn't want to. No no no because then England wouldn't love him anymore and if he wasn't insane already, he definitely would be then. If he didn't love him, love him forever and ever with all his heart if he left like they all left, left him alone in a house too big and too cold for only one person to live in then he would surely die.
England was already mad at him scared because he didn't know what to do when this sorta thing happened about what he has been doing. But but but that was just to keep him alive breathing and sure that he wasn't made out of snow imagine what he could do if he wanted to die, die die die! Another laugh tore from his throat echoing around him as the gun shot had seconds ago, as the screams of pain had, because he didn't want bad children as he thought of it. He could be dead and so so cold just like the snow surrounding him with just one shot one bang of the gun and their bodies were falling to the ground, pleasure and pain filling his body.
Suddenly, the door was open and his lovely bird was sitting in front of him again, asking him questions, so many questions why are you doing this, what have we done, we want peace but he ignored them because they weren't important. Only his bird, ever there to bring the pretty pretty music into his life. He launched forward and kissed him, and everything faded away, the white carpet, the cold snow, the brown stain, their fading screams, his body. It was just him and his his his England. When they separated, England pulled him back onto the bed and he smiled. Smiled because he still loved him and that was all he needed right now. Later, he would need the reassurance of a blade, he laughed as happiness is not a warm scalpel floated through his head, England shooting him an odd look, but right now as the snow melted away and left only them in his room, this was all he needed. He looked out the window to see the dead bodies scattered out in the barren wasteland, staining the pure snow with their red red blood that was quickly turning brown. But soon, it was already happening, the fresh snow would cover them up, cover up the stain on its innocence like it had never happened. But he could never do that. His would change from a bright red to a dark brown and would fester, fester there forever until it rotted him from the inside out. He felt so cold but he could never be the snow.
A/N: S-sooooooooo. I hope you enjoyed? Ah-ahahaha. This one came out kinda weird (aka creepy). I hope you got who I was referencing in the italics. I wasn't planning on making a part two but so many people liked it and a few people requested more so I felt like I should. The beginning was difficult because I didn't plan on more happening. Sorry England, you came out kinda irresponsible in my opinion. I don't really like the beginning but the second paragraph is one of my favourites...That's a common theme here isn't it? Hahaha it's always the carpet chapter. I have a secret love of it, I think. Or maybe it's the symbolism? Well this is getting long and I'm sure it's pretty TL;DR so I'll stop now. Maybe there'll even be a third part. Who knows. Review with some ideas and I'll think about it.
PS. I thought I made it pretty clear but incase you didn't get it, it was a comparison-like thing between America and Russia. Russia's thoughts are the italics from the third paragraph on. Hahaha who caught the Repo! the Genetic Opera reference? :3
PPS. ...This has been sitting on my computer, completed for...a week or something. Why didn't I post it? Your guess is as good as mine. I think it was because I wasn't happy with it...or maybe because I didn't know if I was finished with it or not? Oh well. Here it is now.