Canada's Secret

I

Trigger warning. Talk about self harm and suicide.

France POV

Hon hon hon! My magnifique self has been going around and getting embarrassing videos of my fellow G8 members to show at ze next meeting! So far I have Russia (singing while shovelling snow off a bird house), Japan (watching anime while covered in blankets, Germany (skipping), Italy (getting stuck in a tree after I baited him with pasta), and England (humming my national anthem while making tea). I still need to get a America and Canada.

It's getting late though. I should get them in ze morning. Luckily America is staying at Canada's house. Should be a piece of gâteau!

🇫🇷

I woke up at ze beautiful time of eight o' clock. Perfect. Lots of time to get the two other videos. I traveled four hours to get from my current hôtel to get to Canada's home. I peeked through a window and... perfection! America and Canada are in the same room. America was eating what looked like fluffy crepes (pancakes) while trash talking everything, including Mr. Canada who was standing in a corner.

I could see the tears threatening to spill from young little Canada's eyes as he heard his brother say such mean thing about him. I almost felt sorry for him. But I was on a mission! I pulled out my camera and started filming. I finished recording just as Canada fled the room, tears finally overflowing.

I followed the path I saw him take and ended up outside another window. This one peered into a bathroom. I smirk as I stealthily set up my camera on the ledge and duck down. I saw Canada run inside and close the door, slumping to the floor against it. I could hear him quietly sobbing and I felt bad for my former colony. This went on for about five minutes before he stood up. I could see the pain in his downcast violet eyes. Such unique eyes of his, it pains me to see them sad.

He walked over the medicine cabinet and opened it, grabbing a bottle of pills. At first it think they're just a vitamins, but when he pours them all into his hand, a blossom of fear blossoms in my stomach. He leans over the sink. I can hear him muttering to himself.

"Come on Matthew. You can do this. No one would notice if I just... if I just disappeared."

This was bad. Canada never calls himself by his human name.

"I'm worthless."

"Weak."

"Pathetic."

I know what he is about to do. Most people believe countries can't die, only fade. That's not true. We can die like humans can, only we are more resilient. If a country dies, its land doesn't just disappear. It stays for a while, but with its personification dead, it fades rapidly. I've seen it happen. Terrible. Canada has tears flowing quickly from his eyes as he lifts his hand to his mouth. His breathing is heavy and he's shaking. My heart is beating as fast it has ever beaten. Even when I went into battle, nothing had scared me more than watching my little colony about to kill himself.

Matthew sighs heavily and puts his cupped hand down on the counter. He pours the pills back into the bottle and mutters, "Why can't you do it, you pathetic excuse for a country? Why can't you just disappear like you always do? No one cares. It wouldn't matter..."

He puts the pill bottle back and pulls out a pencil sharpener from his pocket. I scrunch my brows in confusion. Is he going to draw? He pulls out a tiny screwdriver as well and takes out the blade. Oh no. The blade. He pulls up his sleeves and it's all I can do to keep from gasping. They're covered in scars. Old and new. Cross crossing all over his forearms. He grips the back of the blade and takes a deep breath as he drags it across his skin.

I almost yelp when crimson blood starts to leak from the cuts. I can feel tears streaking down my face as I watch. My happy little colony. Has hurt themselves. He finishes, his arms covered in blood. He washes the blade, puts it back into the sharpener, and tucks it back into his pocket. He washes his arms and covers them with bandages. He looks at his shirt which now has a bit of blood on it. He sighs once again and opens a cupboard. This time he pulls out another dress shirt and tie. He takes off his current dress shirt and more tears trace my cheeks. His sides, back, and front are covered in more scars.

He finishes changing, washes the tear marks off his face, and leaves the bathroom. I'm speechless as I crouch there. My happy little colony, reduced to a self hating country who thinks ho one cares. I'm about to leave before I remember my camera which recorded the whole thing.

I trek off into the woods in the direction of the road, my heart shattered.

Hello! Matthew here. Thank you for reading this, I really appreciate it. I do not own any art. Thanks to the wonderful people who made it. This is my first fan fiction of please don't hate. I'm not sure how good it is. Thanks.