Once again, I wrote this while very bored in study time. Yes, i know I should be updating on Pointless Things and Sing a Siberian Song in the Snow, but the former I can't think of anything atm, and the latter keeps wandering off.

The Night.

Russia felt it, as soon as it had started to creep up, he felt it. As its cold fingers gently brought dark over him, he would shiver.

Although his days were never quite as warm as he wished, night, to him, was a hell he endured without end.

When, slowly, his land began to get more and more covered and it was half dark, when night was halfway there, Russia would claim to be going to deal with business, and he would walk upstairs, lock his bedroom door, and curl up in the corner of his room.

He would fight sleep. Unwanted nightmares creep up on his and torture his child-hood self when he slept. He fought sleep with every ounce of his strength, but even so, it was a fight he would lose once night covered the whole of him.

Then waking nightmares would become more real, and blood would seep from under the floor. The sticky red liquid would be surrounding him, soaking him in the blood of his people, their people, everyone he had ever know, it would be his fault, and in the panic he would flail, drowning-

Then sunlight would pierce his eyes. Thos few hours in which he had slept would seem an eternity but sun, saving sunrise had awakened him. Night was a hell, but here, on this morning, sunrise was more that a saviour.

Sunrise was heaven.

Fine, I'll try to update on the others...


Flames WILL be used to stoke your funeral pyre. Yes, they really will. I have felt very dangerous since an argument I had with who used to be a dear friend of mine...