And then there was silence.

Silence. Thundering, impending silence. The sound of his own shallow breathing as the blood trickled down his temple and into the groove of his neck. It was hard to believe it was silent after all this time; filled with the other's boisterous laughs, filled with her smiles, filled with her big heart. He cursed her for her stupidity.

Such beauty she had. Such beauty only an angel could possess – something he marveled at everyday.

He loved her. He hated her. He wanted her. He killed her. He killed Ukraine.

The deed was done, but the hole in his heart would never fill – the act of killing her would never do that, if anything, it would make it worse. And worse it did become. The guilt of loving her all these years came back to him, wrapping around his fragile heart like the long legs of a cellar spider; like a boa constrictor squeezing the prey out of the life of their current victim – he was that victim, the victim of loss.

He stared at the lifeless body before him, a current sight he was often used to in his old age. Ukraine stared blankly up at him; her mouth opened wordlessly in an endless and muted scream as the bullet wound in her great bosom bled on; staining the light blue cloth of her sweater a bloody red. His violet eyes cold; his heart beating painfully in his chest. At each painful beat, he winced; questioned the heart's motives. It was as if the heart was screaming the endless question that puzzled both him and the dead cadaver that was once his older sister endlessly. Why had he done it? Why had he lost it finally? Why? Why? Why? Why put yourself through this much torture?

The ice-like vice grip on the .357 magnum revolver with the long barrel slackened and fell to the floor. He stared at the body. Staring, staring, watching, watching, looking, looking; that seems like all he was capable of – he the Great Country of Russia, full title: Russian Federation – only being to stare, not to help, not to participate; just stare.

(He pulled on the leather gloves and stared solemnly at the hovel that was Ukraine's current living condition. The lights were on in the kitchen where Ukraine was most likely making dinner, humming to herself.)

Ukraine had gave him his scarf. She was dead now. Did he deserve to wear it?
No.

(He stroked the barrel of the gun in his trench coat and walked through the front door. Ukraine's head curiously poked out from the doorway.)

He unwrapped the scarf from his neck and folded it up; laying it upon her lower abdomen. With bloody, ungloved fingers, he closed her mouth and eyes; giving her impression that she dead peacefully – not confused and scared.

("Vanya?" Ukraine asked; awfully confused. She looked even more beatufiul when she was confused.

He hated that.

"What are you doing here Vanya?"

"I hate you." He said with malice; the same childish smile on his face. His voice did not match his expression. That just made it all the more confusing.)

Staring softly at the body, he thought of the many different memories of his past with Ukraine, many with Belarus as well – before she became hellbent on marrying him and becoming one with him. Ukraine, Belarus, Russia – the three children of the house; the time before he lost his sanity, the time before he lost his family, the time…the time where Ukraine loved him.

("What?! What do you mean Vanya?!"

"I hate you Katyusha." He would never let her know that as he said those words; his heart thudded painfully in his chest. It reminded him that he still loved Ukraine, that they were just pitiful lies of boiling anger. Bubbing, bursting Anger that boiled like Lava.

Pushing it all away, he grabbed the gun. Ukraine put her hands up and attempted to console her brother. She didn't know what to do. She had never delt with his rage! )

Those words did hurt. The words 'I hate you'. Ukraine never did anything to him. The words I hate you were pointless when they meant nothing; just like I love you. Russia had never said I love you to no one but her.

"Vanya…Please…"

"You left me."

"What?"

"You left me."

"I h-h-had t-t-t-too!"

"Right after you promised. You promised we would stay together forgever."

"Ivan, that was childhood–"

"They always said I was childessly cruel," Russia said with a big smile. "It only makes sense that I keep promises from the past are valid."

Click.)

And that's what happened.

Ivan stared at his sister; Belarus would be depressed. He picked up the gun and checked the amount of bullets in its barrel. The barrel held one bullet left.

He stared at Ukraine on the floor. She seemed to be screaming something. What though?

He positioned the barrel at his temple and smiled childishly. This was the way to go.

Click.

The bullet tore his brain like a bullet train and slammed out the other side; a trail of blood and bits of pink flesh that was his brain spraying out from the hole. He fell over, the gun dropping his bloodied hands. The floor shook as he fell to the ground, inches away from Ukraine's body. As his life slipped away from him, it hit him about what Ukraine's last words were.

I'm sorry.

And he was too.

And then there was silence.

A/N: I wrote this when I was feeling absoulutely emo. It fails upon epicness :D But basic plot point: Russia loses it and kills Ukraine and then himself; learning Ukraine truly did love him, but not the way he wanted. It fails.

Please Review. :D