25 Ways Of Dying (CountryHumans RusAme)

Crisis Special

America couldn't move a muscle. He sat on a wooden chair in the middle of a classroom, a wooden desk in front of him, and several others around him. They all seemed to stare at America.

Watching.

Waiting.

America wanted to call for Russia. Unfortunately, he.. couldn't move. Not an inch. Not even his eyes.

His eyes.

His gaze was directed to a screen in front of him, a whiteboard lit up by a projector with images of decaying corpses, a blank tone of voice spoke over the images.

"Rigor mortis, or postmortem rigidity, is the third stage of death," It sounded as thought is was read straight off of a report, or Wikipedia, "It is one of the recognizable signs of death, characterized by stiffening of the limbs of the corpse caused by chemical changes in the muscles postmortem."

America couldn't feel himself breathe. He didn't know if he was breathing. He didn't like this - no way. Not at all. He didn't know how he felt; there was no feelings in his arms. In his heart. His mind.

Slowly, he felt himself descend further..

And further..

And further into darkness.

...

They sat in a bedroom. Russia's bedroom. In the centre of the room, sitting on a rug with reds, browns, oranges, and several other warm colours.

"America!" Russia cried to the sleeping country, "America, get up!"

Russia's concern had grown for America once he realised America's breathing slowed, much shallower and much less breaths than he'd consider normal.

At the moment, he could feel America taking one tiny breath what seemed every half minute.

"America!" Russia tried again, giving a single forceful shove. Russia had to admit, he did feel bad for doing so, but he had to do it. He didn't know what had happened to America, or how to snap him out of it.

Suddenly, America jolted up, coughing madly, choking on his own breaths, tears pricking his eyes. Russia leaped forward and hugged America out of instinct, relief flooding through his body. They both stayed like that for a moment, before Russia took America by the shoulders, placed America's glasses on the floor, and looked into his eyes - pure terror.

"What happened?" Russia asked, still slightly worried for America, "You.. you gave me huge shock, yes? Do not do that again, please."

"It wasn't me," America croaked with a quiet tone of voice, "It wasn't my fault, I.. I don't know what it was, it wasn't me.. it wasn't me.. I-"

"You are repeating yourself," Russia moved one of his hands to America's cheek, wiping a tear that threatened to fall from his face, "Tell me, what happened?"

"I.." America paused, looking down to the ground, "I don't know."

Russia huffed. He embraced America again, America hesitantly hugged back. He buried his face into the crook of Russia's neck and let tears fall from his face, unsure of what happened, letting Russia down.

"It is okay," Russia rubbed America on the back, "You are okay. We will escape simulation soon, do not worry, yes?"

America nodded slowly in response, he felt Russia remove an arm, and placed his glasses back on America's head. America pushed himself closer to Russia, appreciating how Russia actually cared.

It felt like hours, before everything faded away, waking up to another place.