Well would you looky here! It's another depressing Russia one-shot ending in death.

Come on, what else do you expect from me? This kind of thing is all I role-play. Well, except a strange awkward one involving Stalin. Might publish it one day.

Ivan stood in front of the seated nations, dread in his almost-dead heart, but a strong determination smothered any sign of weakness within him. He had come to do it, and would do it right.

Just a small shame, he thought, that they would have to see it.

He shrugged to himself, and batted away the thought.

Taking a breath, he spoke to his waiting friends.

"I have called you here, today…"

The words, those blessed words. They had slipped from his falling mind too fast.

"Because I need to tell you all…"

It didn't matter. Those words were gone. He skipped to the end, like so many others. Behind his back, he drew out the gun. One bullet, all he needed.

"I wish…I could have been so much more. I could have been kinder, I…"

Russia bowed his head, guilt creeping up from behind.

Then looked up.

Faced them all.

"It does not matter, however. This is not a counselling session, and you, well, you couldn't care less anyway."

He took the gun out from behind him.

"Goodbye, comrades."

Raised it to his head. Watched as they moved forward, tried to grab it, to stop him.

BANG.

His head jerked toward the left and his right arm flung out behind him, recoil sending him sprawling on the floor.

Ivan's eyes widened for a split second, filled with the faces of nations attempting to save his life, called his name over and over, tears spilling from their many eyes.

In that second, he knew. Knew that they did not want him gone. Not at all. Ever.

But it was too late.

In that second, he was gone.

Reviews are appreciated.

However, flames will be used to stoke your funeral pyre.