An inexplicably biased and abridged account of the history of Denmark, by Denmark.

A blonde man sat in a dimly lit room, reading his words over and over again with a strange fervor. His eyes had dark circles under them, and a coffee cup laid empty near him. It was late, although he knew that he had to finish. The mumbled words were low, as he clutched a corner of the paper, reciting the words he had written.

"This was meant to be a letter, but I never had much experience with those, so I'll pretend otherwise. I have been told to write down my history. A first person account. Apparently, I am the only one who has never done this, although I promise that the reason why will be evident sooner or later. I wish it were as simple as my handwriting being too sloppy, but I have never been one with luck. Nevertheless. I may as well just begin for now.

I am now comprised of a scattering of various islands, although I used to be so much more. But everyone knows about Vikings, and how we killed and raided. That interests little. It is blunt, but who cares about how our struggles started? We were all barefoot and alone before others found us. No, my real history begins with my own demise. After the berserkers, the "horned" helmets, the axes. The beginning of my country begins with the fall of Denmark.

A quick note: my facts are not from my own memory. The truth is, I have forgotten many things. And how could you blame me? If you are human, and you must be if you are shocked since other countries surely realize what I am saying, try to imagine yourself when you were three. You can't, unless you are a liar. Joking. Anyways, my short conclusion: countries are human. I do not remember everything that I have done, nor do I wish to. I have had to walk past shelves and shelves of World War II books to find a single, small, battered book about my history. But what else should I have expected? No one has ever wondered about me for centuries, and as one does, I grew used to it.

As you can see, I don't want to talk about this. Any of this. It's shameful to know that I do not remember my own past. I am not elegant with my words. And, most importantly, this facade, this thin veneer, that I have put on for what feels like forever will be ripped apart. But I will do so anyways, seeing that I have followed the majority for most of my life. What else can I do?

Denmark is small. Tiny enough to almost be considered paltry, but a proud country. A land de minimis. What we lack in size, we make up for in spirit, I suppose. But spirit hardly stops other countries from attacking, does it?

First were the Baltics. I was the 'gatekeeper' for trade, through Øresund. A small water route, which allowed countries like England to trade with them. I was affluent for a while, and there was no fighting. I had land in my neighboring countries. I was an eminent country, not to be trifled with. I was naïve. I never imagined how quickly everything could be ripped away. In the 1500's, a wild Swede invaded, wanting control as well. Power. Money. Glory. I coveted such things as well. That is all I recall of Sweden from the 16th century to the 18th century. His ire as he tried to beat me down, desperate to do anything to win. We are friends now, I promise. Swear! Even though it doesn't seem like it, we're family. Or at least... Close enough. Perhaps I have forgotten the rest on purpose. We fought, and I won just once. Just once. And then from 1630, I knew that everything was over. The fighting lasted until 1720, but I knew that it didn't matter. It was always me who started the wars. I kept fighting, and I kept losing. I am an indigent country, like a cornered dog. I will bite if there is nothing else I can do. Doesn't sound like the current me, does it?( I've been told that I'm like a canine on multiple occasions, actually, because of how I always seem to be enlivened. Haven't you told me that as well? I thought that you would find it amusing. I did.)"

He didn't.

"I keep on getting distracted by my own commentary, instead of my history. A bit of a narcissist, aren't I? Every country is. We just simply learned how to hide it. The truth is, we are all ticking bombs.

Digressions aside, I fought Sweden for 90 years, knowing full well that all I was doing was losing land. In 1824, I gave away both Norway and my heart. (How easily I skip around from time period to time period. I should know my own history, but as I said before.) I felt torn to shreds, but the economic relief of not having to support another country... Even I am disgusted at myself. Talking about Norway makes me feel uneasy, although when it is Lukas, or Søren, or whatever name he decides to use for the occasion, I am eager to oblige. You see? Another mantra of mine: separating our feelings between our history and personal lives is how we have stayed sane. Even if I sometimes cannot. Even if I cried my soul out on that fateful day when I was once again alone. It is hard to love a country, instead of just the "human" aspect. I love him. His own wars. His language. His smile. As much as I try, I cannot undo my error. Ah. I've smudged the paper with tears. I will try my hardest to avoid any mention of Norway in my history from now on.

The wars with Sweden, and there were plenty, left us both feeble and susceptible to other countries. My land mass is lacking, yes, but I can still protect myself well enough against the Swedes. Don't underestimate the Danes! Swedish lands were razed, and we got back a small patch of land from Germany. But as all things go, I was also devastated as a country. Naturally. The Baltic waters that had hailed me as king became foreign, and Netherlands quickly seized its chance for power while both Sweden and I were recovering from damages. 'Friends.' Don't get me wrong, I knew that he'd be kind for a bit, just to snatch up whatever I'd let go. I just didn't realize how badly I'd lose.

Britain too. England. The last time we truly had any interaction during this time was when he bombed my capital. He took my fleet twice, and I had nothing to protect myself. Took my defense and my offense with one, fell swoop. Just because he felt "threatened" that I would support France in a war. An air-headed move, although I hope I don't come off as too offensive. Napoleon, too. All these great names, these great countries. Sometimes I wonder what they think about. If my people are dead, if I can hardly stay alive, if it were during a time when historians were betting on whether or not I'd survive as a country, why would I bother attacking? All of their battles, they always had hope that they would win. What did I have? Well, even if the Kalmar Union was dissolved, I still had Iceland, the Faroe Islands, etc., but none of them were important. Or at least, strategically. There were no advantages as a country. Sure, they are all great people, but what good does that do when you're weak? Weak enough for Prussia to rush in with Austria and take Schleswig-Holstein away. Bismarck. What a disgustingly brilliant Prussian leader. Austria is an elegant man, and Prussia is an energetic friend. Obstinate. But energetic. As a drinking partner, there is no one I'd rather have than the strange albino man. But as a country, Prussia makes me want to simply strangle him. Around the throat, and just clench until he is begging, crying on the ground. There was no reason to take away two-fifths of my people. He used me as a stepping stool to start a war. Surely, you understand. Or perhaps you don't. Perhaps I am the only one who feels this way, because such few countries have had everything ripped away so quickly. Or maybe, I am simply a base person. Your call.

You must realize by now that this is why I felt uneasy about writing my history. Bias. That, and my view about other countries is lower than low. I love them as a human, and I couldn't be any more content. But as a country, I want to scream, to make them disappear for walking over me all these years, just taking everything away. I am a filthy country. Scum. I am not happy. None of those demographics are accurate. 'Denmark as the happiest country.' Or, if they were, the world certainly got a lot more sinister, didn't it? Well, the rankings were never accurate. Having a nice landscape doesn't mean that I'll be in the clear. After all, I still can't forgive all those countries for what they have done to me, and I cannot expect that they will forgive me either. I have done terrible things as well. You know that as well as I do.

I always argue that countries are human, and perhaps it's because I despise the part of myself that is always irate. I have mostly forgotten my anger, but it never disappears. Resentment has been my only companion for when everyone else pointed a gun at me, the laughing stock of Europe. I don't want it to be there, this curling pit in my stomach. I yearn to be ebullient more than anyone. To be with other countries without having to fight. And so I try my hardest to hide it under the lock and key of a smile. I am just as ashamed of this demon as you think. I want people to believe that I am always cheerful, always worried about others instead of myself, always kind, gentle, sweet. I crave it more than revenge. Life is just much better without worrying about who will leave you or attack you next. Life, after all, is beautiful.

I hope I have surprised you, but I don't plan on attacking anyone. Promise. It is a buried desire, but I will keep it hidden from everyone else. I am ashamed and repulsed that part of me, and I want it to dwindle away. So I am trying, just as I always have.. I remember everything horrible that has happened to me as a country, but I wish that I had remembered the good times instead. When nothing was wrong and could stand in our way. When I fought alongside the aforementioned countries instead of against them. When there just wasn't any fighting.

Within a million books, there was but a single, battered copy of my history, loosely bounded. I hope you weren't disappointed by the lack of facts. After all, I am Denmark. I am the country, but I am a person. Naturally predisposed to my own favor. Everything that I was not, I have tried to become. I have so much more to say, so many more battles, but I will stop writing soon. It is too much for me right now. Because now, I understand. I understand why Norway had asked me to write this. There are cross outs, a ripped hole, and endless smudges in the paper I am writing on, a coffee stain, but I understand."

Here, the man flipped the page over with a bit of hesitation, running his forehead and sighing.

"Norway- I am still trying to heal. I am a weak country, but I will become a strong person. When I have figured out how to get rid of this plague that has escorted me for centuries, I will tell the world about our history. I have forgotten so many victories and losses, but I have remembered ours."

The man paused for a moment, a slight tremor in his voice. Just a bit more, now.

"Norway, I wonder if you knew about this side of me. About how I am not an endlessly happy person, about how I easily crumble. I do not want to show this to you; I am afraid of disappointment. Years of self-repulsion does that to you, I suppose. Norway, you know better than anyone about how poor I am with words, how my clumsy scrawl is almost illegible, and just how I have never talked about my history. There has never been anything great about Denmark the country. I know it more than anyone, no matter how much I talk about being King or a leader. I am a failed country, small and alone. I have lost everything, but I have you now. Or at least I hope I do. So perhaps I do have some good luck. I will try to forgive and become someone worth calling a leader. I hid my thoughts for years, but I am trying. So please, even though I have thought unforgivable things, stay. Stay as both the strongest country and human I know. Despite all of my disappointments, all of my hatred, all of my disgust, I have never regretted loving you. You have stayed with me until the end. Thank you, above and beyond anything.

I love you.

-Mathias, Kongeriget Danmark/Kingdom of Denmark"

The exhausted man sighed, and ran a hand through his wild hair. His heart thumped, once. Twice. His hands were cold, clammy, shaking. Would this be it? The bottled up feelings he had kept silent, roaring to life on the sheet. He folded up the paper with careful precision, before heading to the fireplace. He watched the orange flames that licked the letter crackle as his work turned to ashes, as he sat down once more with a heavy heart. No. It wouldn't do.

After all, who would believe such a thing?