All of the characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the theory was written by deviantart's SailerInfoerno12908, so credit for this sad, but wonderful, theory must be given to them.

The Hetalia Theory speculates that all of the countries once lived as humans, under their human names, and died at their age of something. Based on each nation's characteristics and personality, the cause of death and life differs for each.

First, I'll write about England who, in his human life as Arthur Kirkland, was a drug addict who died of an overdose of hallucinogenic drugs. This explains the 'imaginary friends' he sees as a nation.

"Why does it have to be so bloody cold all the damn time?" Arthur murmured to himself, his voice slurred and broken.

It might have been the English air, heavy with crisp mist that bit at Arthur's exposed face. Or it might have been Arthur himself. His body was thin and frail, his cheekbones prominent and his cheeks sunken and sallow. He looked as though he would be blown over by the smallest wind.

He didn't care to venture out these days. Not for groceries. Not for new clothes. Not to repair the faucet that had been dripping for three months. Not for the drafty window, even though it was the one thing he couldn't stand. It whispered softly, softly in his ear. 'Arthur, oh Arthur. Come here.'

'Ha ha! Never! Damn your trickery!' He would screech, pointing at it accusingly. Arthur tended to talk not only to the window, but to himself as well. It comforted him. After all, he was oh-so-alone.

The only reason he was struggling through the cold, ice-glazed streets was to get more of the one thing he craved. Marc, who he was going to see, called it PSP, or angel dust if he was trying to advertise. As if he needed advertisement! Who wouldn't want beloved angel's dust?

Arthur liked to think of it as angel dust. Only the angels could bless us pitiful scum with such a sweet vision of heaven! Yes, yes! Heaven! He needed to see more… More! He was one step closer. Around the corner now. Into the ally, yes. Where monsters lurked behind boxes and in the dark corners, jumping out at him and trying to take him away.

"You won't take me away!" He muttered as he entered the ally. "You won't take me away… you won't take me... you won't take me… you won't take me…"

"Shit, Arthur. You sound like a damn broken record." Marc was there, his arms crossed. Dressed in that damn brown ratty hoody. You see, it attracted the demons. They were around him all the time. How could Marc not see them?

Arthur saw them.

"Bastard, you voice is fucking annoying." Was Arthur's response. "Like a thousand knives splitting me right down the middle."

"Like hell I care." Marc said. "Do you want your stuff or not?"

"Of-of course I do! That's what I'm here for. Give it to me!" Arthur's hands reached out and grabbed at Marc's arms, yanking at the jacket.

"What are you doing, you bastard?" Marc tried to shove him off.

"Can't you see them? They're all over you! The demons!" Arthur looked frantic and he grasped at the empty air around Marc. "They'll take you away! You can't leave me. No no no no no no."

"Fuck, man, you look like shit. I've dealt to a lot of fucked up people, but you're prob'ly the worst. I mean, look atcha. You're so damn pale."

"Being pale is a sign of royalty you know! Can't you see my crown? It's so pretty and gold!"

"Just give me your money and take this." He held up a bag full of his precious angel's dust. "It'll be fifty."

"Here, here!" Arthur dug in the pockets of the jacket that was now far too large on him. "You can even keep the change."

Arthur snatched the bag and threw a ten euro note and a few paper clips at the dealer. He stumbled away, clutching the bag to his chest. Marc stood, bewildered.

"Fucked up bastard. How much I'll bet that this'll be the last time he visits me." Marc shook his head. "Demons are coming to get me… Arthur'll be a dead man soon."

Arthur stumbled into his empty flat. There was only one chair, he had to sell the rest to buy his favorite thing. He fell into the chair, pulling out the small bag from Marc. He fumbled around, searching for the paper wrappers that the monsters in the chair had eaten.

"There!" He exclaimed, finding the package. "Nice try! You won't be getting them this time." He kicked and punched at the chair.

With shaking hands, Arthur tapped out a small amount of his beloved onto the paper and rolled it up, sealing it with a lick of his tongue.

"Lighter, lighter! Give me light, I need to see. I need to see what the angels have in store for me! Ha ha! It'll be beautiful!" Arthur searched for his lighter, desperate to reach the sweet release his beloved brought him. He flicked the lighter a few times. Nothing. No flame.

"No! No, god no!" Arthur became frantic. He flicked the lighter until his hands went numb. "Come on, dammit!" His fingernails were ragged and bitten down to the cuticle, which were also bleeding from flicking it over and over and over. He felt a rising sense of panic in his chest, consuming him, swallowing him whole. This couldn't possibly be. "What a cruel god you are." He snarled into the ceiling.

It echoed, softly, softly.

He continued to flick the lighter for another ten minutes, until it, along with his hands, his jacket and the ratty chair were splattered with droplets of crimson blood.

Finally, a spark lit and the small tube began to smoke. "Dearest God! Thank you for letting me partake in your world!"

His dark, grey flat became filled with more visions. Ambiguous shapes emerged out of corners, speaking softly, softly. 'Hello Arthur. Come here. Come with us.'

"You've never asked me to come with you before. Do you love me that much?" He asked, the empty flat echoing his scratchy voice. "I won't go. I like it here."

'Why won't you come?' They asked. 'No matter, we'll make you come with us.'

They drifted closer. They snatched his beloved.

"Give that back!" He yelled, glaring at the taunting black figures. They were increasing in number.

'Come and get it yourself, Arthur.' They whispered in unison. Softly, softly.

"Give it back, damn you!" He ran after them, stumbling over the hard tile floor.

They were leading him toward the window. 'Come, Arthur.' The window whispered. They spat flames at him, growing close and closer.

'Come closer Arthur.'

'Arthur, Arthur! Come closer!'

'Yes, Arthur. We want to see you!'

'Arthur.'

'Arthur!'

'We only want to see you!'

'Come closer.'

'Come closer!'

'COME CLOSER!'

"Ahhhh!" His head felt like it was splitting into a thousand pieces. The voices were tearing him apart. This was not heaven, with the heat of a thousand tongues of flame lapping at his ankles and the screams of the damned around him. This was hell, this was not what he wanted.

He screamed, launching himself at the window for his beloved. His hand went through the glass, slicing it to ribbons. But he felt no pain, only the suffering.

Arthur collapsed, the red closing in on him. "Our Father, which art in heaven…" He never prayed, and hadn't recited this since he was a child, but his voice wouldn't stop. "… And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Arthur felt the world fading

"… The power. And the glory. For ever and ever."

For the first time in a long time, he was scared.

"Amen."

And he was gone, the world and the heavens leaving him behind. Alone. In the darkness.

Fading.

Softly, softly.

The first color he remembers seeing is green. The dark and light green that danced in front of his eyes as the sunlight shone through the canopy of trees above him.

He sat up and was confronted with something that looked and felt familiar, but he couldn't remember seeing it before.

"Hello England!" A small, mint colored bunny flitted around him.

The wind blew in the forest around him.

Softly,

Softly.

Well, chapter one is finished now. Next will be America. I will try to upload that as soon as I can.

Feedback is REALLY appreciated guys! Please review and tell me what you think!