It was the last straw

He could not take it anymore.

He tried for his country, his people, but he was a failure.

Why must he be so weak?

Why must he be so stubborn?

Why must he be so friendless?

Why must he be so hated?

*flashback*

It was a usual meeting, and by "usual", I mean chaos, countries fighting and bickering, France flirting, Italy shouting "Pastaaaaa~~~~~" and Germany pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course, America and England were in the middle of their usual argument.

"You're not a bloody hero, America!" England loudly put his teacup down. It made a clank as it made contact with the table. "You can't fix everything!"

"Yes, I can!" America shouted back. "You're just jealous because I'm a hero, and you're not!"

"I'm not jealous, for god's sake!" England shouted back, adding a string of colorful words.

"Oh yes you are, Britan. You're jealous, that's what you are. You're jealous because you lost the war, and now I'm independent, and at least the others want and need me here!" America shouted, not knowing that what he said hit England hard. Very hard. Neither did the other nations.

Nobody noticed England's hand tremble, not even China, the observant one.

They did not know that he was trying so hard not to break down right there.

"Fine!" England shouted, not wanting to show his wake side. "If you insist, I'll be gone to do more useful things!" He turned on his heels and walked towards the door, speeding up each step. Nobody noticed the tears that pricked his eyes. He walked out the door, shut it, and continued down the hall, his shoes making soft thumps, fading and fading each step he took.

They did not know that the tears were now flowing down his face continuously.

They did not know that they each did at least one thing wrong to contribute to this fact.

They knew nothing at all.

*end of flashback*