never.

[souleater411.livejournal.com]

Just a little something I wrote for 500themes today. Hope you enjoy. :3

Title: Never.
Author/Artist: souleater411 
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 120 - Don't scream.
Words: 595
Genre/s: Angst.
Warnings: Violence.
Worksafe: Yes.
Summary: Never scream, he thought. That's what he said to me. If I scream, I will be a disgrace. If I scream, my people will be shamed. But in the midst of pain, it is terribly difficult not to scream. [WWII Atomic Bombing, Japan.]
Disclaimer/Claimer: Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.


From the moment his boss had signed the papers and shook hands with the other men, it had been final. Another war. Already, he could feel his many years seeping into his bones, and he could do absolutely nothing back in revolt, firstly because it wasn't in his nature, and secondly because ones' country did not suddenly shift loyalties from their leaders. So for now, the Asian nation kept his head down, short bob hidden beneath his tidy white cap.

Day in and day out, he tried his very best to support his people in the midst of this nasty business. Every time he saw his old friends, he was forced to shoot at them, because his boss had now allied him with new 'friends'. The bullets flew and sometimes they hit him too, but he was never allowed to make even a peep. Dark eyes kept closing tightly, and he swallowed the bitter fluid gathered from a scrape on the lips, or from a stab in the stomach. Then, he'd be forced to dig it out himself, cringing the whole time, but he made no sound. Long, long ago, he recalled someone telling him that it didn't suit their kind. They were to bear everything, and not complain.

Japan merely sighed and carried on, transferring to different platoons every time he'd 'supposedly' died. It wouldn't do to have his people discover what he was, unless they simply had a keen insight.

But it all changed, that day. The man who had come over once upon a dream and forced him to expand his horizons, with dirty blonde hair and infectious smile--he was doing things like this now. It was a deadly quiet day today, so shortly after his other friends were starting to lose and surrender. That day, he felt worse than if he'd been physically shot. This was the pain of his actual body's suffering. His people cried out, and he felt the bile come from his throat at a break-neck speed. Bending over and throwing up, his dark eyes were wild with pain. A gash in his abdomen suddenly appeared and erupted in blood. He soon coughed that up too, in-between his gasps for breath. His heart raced, and his face broke out in sweat. He thought he might throw up again.

It hurt so terribly. Tears pricked at his eyes. And the back of his throat itched to let something out, but before it could come out, Japan furiously bit his lips. The pressure from the impact soon turned into piercing attacks on himself, the blood coming from his lips both internal and external now. Spit, sweat, and blood mingled when he tried to breathe again, one hand bracing himself on the ground, and the other clutching at his convulsing chest.

For hours, it burned. But he made not a sound other than the occasional sob. A scream had been trained not to come from his throat, and even in the edgy aftermath of such an attack, still he couldn't seem to find that scream erupting from his lungs. At long last, in the throes of pain and exhaustion, when he collapsed, something resembling the feeble cry of a small animal met his lips, and he hit the ground, the gaping, burning wound making him sweat even in his sleep.

Don't scream, Kiku. That man had spoken harshly. We never disgrace ourselves by screaming.

And as his dark eyes fell closed, and he curled up tightly in fear, only tears met the dirt, and not another sound left his lips.

Never.

Read the other two for today here.