History's Fall

Goodbye

An emergency was brewing.  Countries near and far began collapsing, shattering, and disappearing one by one.  The horrified shrieks of children, the blood curlding cries of dying countries.  The World Powers can do nothing but stand in terror, watching their comrades seem to dissolve into nothing.  The smallest, less powerful countries fall first, their cries ring out like an orchestra, a band of souls once so pure, so innocent, now kneel to their knees, begging for mercy.  The Nordics grasp onto each others hands in fear.  Finland gripping Sweden's hand as hard as he can, knowing their last breath will be soon.  Denmark begins to sob, his hand shakily holding Norway and Icelands'.
   "Why is this happening, I thought the world was okay..  What happened.." Iceland mumbles, his bigger brother beginning to choke at his words.
   "Finland..!" Sweden cries out, as Finland screams in agony, Sweden following, then Iceland, then Norway, and finally, Denmark.  They screech and cry, their voices beginning to fade into the unknown.
   "The Nordics, we will live on, never to forget each other..!" They cry, in their last final breath, before they disappear.  The only objects that remain are a silver cross hairpin, a white barret-like hat, a pair of thick glasses, a neatly strewn white bowtie, and a tattered, scraped up battle axe keychain.

The World Powers mortified, each of their eyes darting to the small belongings of other countries that have been left behind.  Veneciano begins to cry, gripping his older brothers hand.
   "R-Romano, you're okay right..?"  He mutters, a few tears running down his face.  The older brother reaches over, wiping a tear from his youngers cheek.
   "Yes Veneciano, I'm alright.. Are you?" He asks, calmly.  His outer appearance seeming unaffected, but his quivering hands display the true fear he hides within.
   "Oi, Alfred!" England shouts, pushing through the others to reach him.  He kneels down to Alfred.  The cowlicked man sits on the ground, trembling and crying, his hands grip his hair and face as tears stream between his thin fingers.
   "A-Arthur.." He squeaks, his voice cracked from the depression and greif that has overcome his thoughts.  Alfred shakes, the thought of his closest friends disappearing causes him to go into a frantic panic.  Cries of fear breach his throat as he lunges for the Englishman.  Yao, Francis, Kiku, Ludwig, Veneciano, Gilbert, and Romano look to the two in shock, the small crowd beginning to panic as well.  Ivan collapses, his scarf softly landing next to him.
   "Ivan no!" Francis yelps, rushing to his friends aid.  Not long after, the others begin to cry out.  Begging and praying for mercy, their shouts become screams, their words become prayers.  The small conference hall begins to illuminate, the group continues to sob in agony.  In a choir of suffering, the room bursts into a beautiful light, undescribeable by any word.  The voices stop, the room empty, nothing is left.  The world is empty, there are no countries left.  The people are gone.  There is nothing.  A pure emptiness.  Small artifacts remain on an empty canvas.

A pair of glasses, the left lens cracked and nearly shattered.
A small purple ribbon, traces of long blonde hair weaved within the seams.
A metal magic wand with a gold star on the end, the paint on the handle worn off from use.
A cream colored scarf, with small dark stains scattered around the ends.
Two small curls of hair, forming a heart, one darker then the other.
Two iron crosses, sitting peacefully next to each other.
A traditional hair tie, a fine detailed design etched on the red back, small wirey hairs attached to the corners.
And a small, gold button, with the word Nihon etched into it, in a fine, small print.

The world has ended.
All information has vanished.
History, has started to repeat itself.
The future lies in the hands, of the unknown territory.