(You’re Russia) The year is 1992, it’s January 14th. You’re sitting at your fathers grave a few hours after the funeral. Everyone’s left already, not that there were many people in the first place, you’re father wasn’t a very liked person. You pick some grass from beside the grave, lost in thought when you hear the gate to the cemetery open, you look up and see your fathers enemy, America, with flowers in his hand. He sees you and immediately starts to leave, before locking eyes and realizing you already saw him.

“Hey kiddo..” he smiles awkwardly, hiding the flowers behind his back.