Søvn, lillebror

One Rope.

A week had passed. Emil tried to act as if things were normal. As if he hadn't broken-down. Yet, he found himself unable to sleep alone. And even with Norway or Denmark beside him, he still slept fitfully. He had taken to avoiding knives, as he'd find himself growing anxious near them. Even with the extra precautions taken, voices kept howling in his mind. Telling him there was no point going on like this. That quitting would make things so much easier on everyone. One rope. One bullet. A few pills. That's all it would take. He'd no longer be a burden. He'd simply become a wisp of memory. Slowly fading from his brothers’ minds as time went on. Becoming something like Germania..or Rome. Something only heard of in history books. Someone only remembered by those who actually cared. But he wasn't Rome. He wasn't some important empire that dictated how humanity would change. He was just a tiny island. Nothing more than a volcanic rock that had managed to become covered with life.
“Emil?” Tino's voice pulled him away from the intruding thoughts. The Fin was clearly worried. He wasn't afraid to show that he was, even if there was no reason for him to be. He was fine.
“I'm fine.” He mumbled.
“If there are things you need to say...things you can't tell Norw-”
“I'm fine.” Tino sighed. He didn't want to press. He knew he wasn't very close with Iceland. But they were family nonetheless. And if there was anything he could do to ease Iceland’s pain, he'd jump on the opportunity. But none of them understood what he was going through. Yes, they all had their rough patches; but, none of them had really be so-except him. Without an explanation, Finland rose from his spot and rushed out of the room.