Fire. All around him was fire. Iceland screamed and yelled for someone to help him, but no one came. He struggled through the debris of the burning home he shared with his four older brothers, fighting to get. out. Lungs burning from inhaling the smoke and the lack of oxygen, Iceland coughed and gasped for breath, his throat and nose stinging. The intense heat radiating from the flames charred his skin and he screamed at the searing pain.
"Help! S-Somebody help! D-Denmark, Norway, someone! He-Help me!" he shouted, but his voice was lost in the crackling and roaring of the fire. When it finally registered that no one was coming to help him, tears began to well up in Iceland's eyes. Mustering up his courage, Iceland rushed through the flames, wildly searching for a way out. His skin was peeling away, burnt black, and his flesh was charred, but he was somehow able to ignore the pain in his desperation to escape a fiery death.
Iceland let out a sob of relief as he reached a window, which was partially opened. A wave of cool air wafted through it and Iceland moaned as the it cooled his burned body. He put his hands underneath it and pushed it up with a grunt. The window didn't budge. Usually if something like this were to happen, Iceland would have panicked, but the smoke he had inhaled made him feel dizzy and lightheaded, therefore throwing off his thoughts. He merely tried again, his arms shaking from the effort of trying to open the window.
Panic and horror slowly filled his clouded mind as the fire around him grew hotter and hotter. His clothes were in flames, burning his skin and flesh right to the bone. His body racking with pain and breathing heavily, Iceland tried again to open the window. His already tear and sweat-stained face was soon drenched with fresh tears as his efforts remained fruitless. And then Iceland looked out the window, finally spotting what was unfolding there, and it made his blood run cold.
Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Sealand stood together, watching the house burn down. They were obviously not panicked by Iceland's absence. In fact, they looked rather smug, almost pleased. Iceland could've sworn he saw a smirk on Norway's usually blank face. A sob burst through his lips and the dying boy sank to the ground, curling up in a ball on the charred floor. His brothers didn't care. They were letting him die. They knew he was in here, and they weren't trying to help. They had abandoned him. So Iceland sat, no longer caring, as he let the fire consume him.