Running... I was running with my brother, his hand on my wrist and leading me. The shots blowing off near my head. I was small and weak and so was he, and we both had no way to fight back. I ran into someone's leg, tripping my brother, and a man looked down at me, big eyebrows and blonde hair. My brother pulled me to hide behind the man's leg as the other country came bounding after us.
"Hey! Stop chasing these two! They are countries! If you kill them, I'll destroy you, Egypt!"
"England, do you know what you are doing? Those two came from the wilderness by Germany!"
"Egypt... I don't want to fight you... these two, from here on out, are under my care." England cast a glance at Egypt, whom left, grumbling and muttering. England picked up the two small kids. "What's your names?"
"Palestine... and this is my sister, Israel. She hasn't spoken a word yet... she was tortured by Germany."
"I see... well, you two look starved! Come back to my household and we'll give you a good meal."
"Alright. Israel, we are going with England to get food. Is that alright?" I looked at my brother, a little bit older than me, and nodded. A smile formed across his face. "Great! Let's go!" with that, I smiled and let myself fall asleep, one hand held by my brother, and my head in England's warm, caring chest.
I wish I could go back to those days... right now, it's been about four years since I was abused and beaten in Germany's household. Palestine keeps bugging me, and England just sips his tea and does nothing... Occasionally someone comes over. His name is America. He has blonde hair like England and glasses... he likes to be called 'Hero'... I remember the day I met him...
"Hey England! Just came over to say.... WOW!" I looked up and saw a man holding a hamburger and drinking a slushie. He was gazing at us. "I have a younger brother and sister!"
"No you don't! This isn't your house anymore, remember? You broke off by yourself!"
"Oh yeah..." America rubbed his head and looked at me and Palestine again. "So who are they?"
"The boy's Palestine, and the girl's Israel."
"Hey! I could introduce myself, you know!" Palestine huffed. I just looked at America, then went back to drawing on a sketchbook I received as a gift from Poland.
"What are you drawing?" America leaned over me to look, and I covered the pages with my hands. "Not very social, now are you?"
"She's not... she has post traumatic stress syndrome..." England said, then went back to his tea.
"Post traumatic stress syndrome? From the holocaust?" As soon as America said that word, I screamed and went to the corner and curled up, hands covering the top of my head. "What the heck?"
"Darn it, America! Look what you did!" England went over to me and gently stroked my hair. "Shh,.. shh... it's okay... Germany won't get you here... you're safe... shh." I slowly stopped whimpering, then stood up, eyes still lifeless.
"Israel was tortured by Germany three years ago... she doesn't like him... she's absolutely terrified of him... we don't mention what he did to her... so please, America, never use the 'H' word around her until she get's over it..." Palestine said.
"Got it..." America said. "and you can count on the 'Hero' to help if you two are in a jam!"
"help.... help.... help.... help..." I kept on repeating the word, and everyone looked at me, confused. "help... Germany... so much blood.... the ashes... the fumes... the pain... someone help.... help.... HELP ME!!!!!!" I screamed and held my head, eyes filled with terror. "So many dead... the tears... stop... stop... STOP!!!!" I completely snapped and ran out of the room, leaving my sketch pad and locking myself in my room.
"Darn it! Stupid memory relapses..." England said. "She only talks when she has a memory relapse... it's sorta sad... she has no voice of her own..."
"England, look at this..." I heard footsteps and then a gasp of horror. They probably saw what I drew... Germany burning me repeatedly, each time, getting deeper and deeper into my heart... I went to the bed and cried all of my pain out.