He finally figured it out. He finally knew how to end all this pain.

He knew he was selfish, and that he didn't know the reactions to what he was doing, but he was too happy to finally find out a clean way to end it all, he didn't care.

It took a lot of confincing, a lot of stealing, and a lot of work with the black market to get this. It would hurt, he knew it.

But it's the only way.

He locked the doors, the blood dripping from his hands. He had to do it, while his best and only friend was asleep. He couldn't let him suffer, not to let him live expecting one of his family members to take care of him.

HE remembered now. Kumajirou. That name will never leave him now.

He knew his brother wouldn't come, he was too freaked out by the date. No matter, perhaps this will make his brother remember, so tomorrow, when his remains were unrecognizable, when he would come bursting in with 20$ from that silly bet, he will remember.

But it will be too late.

The gruesome smile on his lips would make the cold Belarus shiver.

They will remember.

In the darkness of the basement, he poured the last bucket of steaming liquid into the tub. He would make it as fast as he could. Throwing the gloves off his hands, he quickly shed his clothes. He would make it memorable. Looking at the note on the table. He smiled. So many times he's said those words. So many time he's shouted, screamed, cried and begged those words. Now it will be etched into everyone's mind.

The cold gas of the liquid made goosebumps form all over his body. He didn't care, though. He just. Didn't. Fucking. Care.

He would make this fast. But memorable. Oh god will it be memorable.

Nude, cold and emotionless, he gripped the edge of the metal tub, feeling his skin burn and fuse with the freezing metal. Using the last bit of strength his nation could offer, he lifted the tub with a animalistic shout, tears coursing down his face, before dumping the 50 gallons of liquid nitrogen over his body.

The grandfather clock in the living room began it's twelve rythmistic chimes.

The note on the small table fluttered as a small breeze flowed through the deathly silent house. It's clear, dark letters legible.

December 21st, 2015.

I am Canada.

After watching 2012 randomly (and deciding that if something like that were to happen, I would DEFINETLY just throw myself off a building) I wondered, "What if this was Hetalia world, and that happened? What would cause something like that to happen?" My answer to myself? The unofficial death of a Nations Person, perhaps? And this emotastic fis was born.

Dear god, what is wrong with me…?