Okay, even though this is not my first time writing a fanfiction, it is however my first time uploading it on the internet and having others read it. So I'm really nervous of how this will go and I'm just asking you people to be patient with me. I don't really know how to rate this story because this chapter might be unsuitable for young children while the other chapters are okay as far as I can see. For now I'll rate it T but if this is the wrong rating, please tell me so I can change it.

This chapter is probably going to be the only one that will be dark. The others are more lighthearted or at least not so gloomy. I hope you enjoy reading this!

Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters don't belong to me.

Prologue

England sighed heavily. The rain continued pattering gently against the window as England was watching, without much interest, the weather forecast.

The weatherman was saying in a bored tone, "...and for the next few days we will be having more rain than usual with varying temperatures although the temperature may rise tonight..."

Picking up the remote control England flicked through a couple other channels and when he found nothing else interesting, he turned the television off. England wondered why he even watched the weather forecast when he knew, no, felt what kind of weather his land was going to have.

It was almost ironic how the weather was reflecting England's current mood. Maybe he was influencing it a bit. England wasn't sure. He really didn't care.

Maybe he had watched the television to distract himself from his own thoughts. With nothing else to keep him occupied now, he was slowly dragged back to his dark thoughts.

What are you trying to run from? The truth? The voice inside England's head sneered, making England wince at the harshness of the words. Was he running from the truth? What truth?

The truth about you, the former British Empire. The truth of what you have become. The truth of what the other nations think of you. England closed his eyes and tried to drown out this voice, shaking his head.

You can't ignore it England. The British nation gritted his teeth tensely, still trying to block out the mocking voice. Yet gradually, a part of him started paying attention to the voice.

Where is your empire? Lost? Gone? England looked out of the window, feeling slightly indignant. The time of empires had come and gone. He wasn't at fault that he no longer had an empire. No other nation was left with an empire.

No other nation likes you. No one cares about you. England shook his head, trying to deny these words. It wasn't true! It couldn't be true. He wished that it wasn't true. But it is.

Your brothers can't stand you.

Your ex-colonies despise you.

Your "allies" and enemies would rather love to see you dead.

England shut his eyes tightly as he felt silent tears trickle down his cheeks. He let out a choked sob. You've become so weak! The voice hissed venomously and England was filled with self-hatred. It was true that England no longer was the strong nation he had once been. Reduced from an empire to... this? He was a sad excuse for a nation.

Indeed. The voice agreed viciously and England's shoulders slumped. A pathetic excuse indeed. You should be ashamed.

Just then England's mobile phone started ringing from across the room. England stared at it miserably but did not try to stand. He did not feel like talking to anyone. Because no one cares about you. You know that very well.

After a while the phone fell silent. Barely a few seconds had passed before it started ringing insistently again. England got tiredly to his feet and walked over to the table to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" England replied, noticing how dull and flat his voice sounded.

"Hey there England, the hero is speaking!" a cheerful voice sounded at the other end of the line.

England sighed. "Hello America." What did that obnoxious git want this time? Great, now the twit was chattering. England didn't bother to follow, most of the things America said was either simply random or plain stupid.

Wonder what America thinks of you. He may have liked you once but now he seems quite happy to be free from you. England felt his heart tighten painfully at the memories which he quickly pushed away to the back of his mind. But the voice continued to torment Arthur.

What must America think of you? Does he see how weak you are? He's always mocking you and he keeps reminding you who is now the strongest nation of the world. He practically stole that title from you. England felt more tears leave his eyes.

Yet you still can't hate him.

You are so pathetically weak. The voice jeered and England almost dropped the phone.

"-and so I said... err... England? Are you listening to me?" America asked curiously.

England quickly snapped back to attention and briskly answered, "Yes, yes." He wiped the tears away.

"So anyway, I just wanted to ask you about the world meeting tomorrow..." America trailed off uncertainly.

"You don't know where it is." England finished for him. He sighed, "You should learn to listen one day America, it's at France's place."

"Oh okay, I totally knew that!" America laughed loudly, apparently trying to mask his temporary slip of confidence. "So Iggy," he continued brightly, "I'll see ya tomorrow, right?"

"Yes...yes of course I will be at the meeting you git! And stop with this Iggy nonsense!" England attempted half-heartedly to sound cross but his voice sounded more tired than anything else.

"Hahaha, I'll see ya then England!" America laughed again and hung up before England could respond. England stared at the phone for a while. Isn't it surprising how an airhead like that can be the strongest Nation of the world? Even stronger than you?

Before England knew it, he had flung the phone across the room in a blind moment of rage. The whole world revolves around America. It's America this, America that. It's all about America.

What about you? What kind of importance do you still have? None. England bent his head and the tears welled up again.

Why are you still here?

The world doesn't need you anymore.

Why should you be at the world meeting?

No one will notice you anyway.

What difference will your presence make?

They wouldn't even notice if you disappeared for good.

His head reeling as each hateful word dug itself deeper into England's heart, the pain became increasingly harder for Arthur to bear. He walked shakily towards his office table and pulled open a drawer.

Without hesitating he reached out for a small jar filled with a clear liquid. He stared at it for a while, wondering why in the world he had ever made it.

It doesn't matter now.

England observed the liquid for a moment, his mind going blank. But then it all came rushing back, the pain and the vicious voice in his head. There is nothing left for you here. Why prolong your stay?

With a slightly shaking hand, Arthur dug deeper into the drawer and pulled out a packet. Inside it was a syringe. He looked at both items in his hands.

You are doing the world a favour.

That's all for now! The next chapter is definately going to be less gloomy than this. ^^