Small Things Hurt Most

That Moment

Okay I know I promised to be on time, but life is like a drunk England. Uncontrollable and full of sadness. So...here, I guess.
The first cut had been a complete accident. But still Sealand remembered it so clearly that that moment could have happened yesterday. That moment was what Sealand dreamed of now. It wasn't dramatic, or sad, just something that stayed with him. The moment the first blood was spilled in his war.

Roughs Tower, 1956

Roughs Tower in pain. A pain that could only be described as having your mind and being stolen. It was a mind numbing pain that ripped him apart.
England had abandoned him. Because he had no use. He was literally useless.
Worthless.
All his "people", his stationed soldiers, his only friends... they had long left. They went back to the people they loved.
And Roughs was not one of those people. Those people were family.

They could have at least left food and water. But then again, he wasn't worth it, was he?

Sealand stood, frozen, he he watched his former self. Sure he had had dreams of memories before, but in those it was it was in his own point of view. He had never actually seen his past self.
'That... that was... me?' Sealand knew he had looked bad, but god...he looked just horrible.
Roughs was on the fort's bunk, splayed head-down on the dirty sheets. His blonde hair looked brownish and shiny with grease. His clothes, a much too big naval uniform, was torn in countless places and frayed at the ends. And his skin was an sickly shade of grayish yellow.

Sealand watched Roughs' chest heave with effort. It was disturbing. That was him. That sickly boy was him.
He felt his chest tighten as Roughs shifted. He stared as the boy propped himself up with his arms, revealing his face. It was the same grayish yellow as the rest of his skin. Dark circles made their home under his eyes, which were milky and blurred.
Roughs extended his arm to the small dresser to the side of the bed. There wasn't much on it: a compass, a small sewing kit for mending clothing, an empty glass... and then there was a small pocket knife. Sealand could see as Roughs brought his hand near the space where the compass and knife was.
Sealand could remember that compass. It was given to him by a crew member, he couldn't remember which. Sometimes on his better days he would just stare at it for hours, just watching it. Watching the little magnetic strip waver ever so slightly.
Roughs hand went to the objects. But while reaching for the compass his hand grazed the knife. Roughs stopped his hand.
And while Sealand watched, it was as if he could feel it. The blood coming out in tiny droplets that flowed down his hand. The sting that the metal left that made his skin tingle. The feeling that left him wanting more.
Because it was something other than his mind tearing him apart.
It was a distraction, getting his mind off of the hell he was living in.
Suddenly the whole room was spinning and blurring until all the micronation could see was blackness.
And then he opened his eyes and he was in the hotel room. Sweden and Finland were beside him asleep. And he knew he was in his bed, tangled in his blankets. But he didn't move. Instead he just kept still. Remembering that moment.
Okay! So can you guys tell me what I can do to improve? It's much appreciated!