HetaOni: Forgotten

My blood seeps out through the tears in my clothes, spilling out onto the cold ground and staining the wood dark.
I struggle to take a breath, my chest shakily rising and falling with each one. The time between them begins to increase, signaling that my own time is coming to a close.
With weary eyes, I look through my cracked lenses, clinging to the vain hope that in my final moments, someone will be there for me.
Of course, there is no one.
It does not surprise me; even before we all started to forget about those who were here, they never remembered me. I was the ghost in the background. The one no one remembered, let alone even attempted to.
Will they even realize I'm gone? I doubt it. They have never remembered me anyways; even my own brother can't remember me for over two seconds.
What was the point to my life if even he couldn't remember me?
I gasp out painfully, my vision starting to blacken around the edges. I feel like crying when I realize that I'm about to die in this hell all alone, and no one will even remember I ever existed.
That thought breaks the gates. Tears slip out from my violet eyes, mingling with the blood that mars my face. My body shakes slightly as the sobs escape my lips.
I don't want to die here. I don't want to die alone. I don't care if they never remember me. I want America. England. France. China. Japan. Italy. I just want someone. I don't want my only company to be the still air that surrounds me.
I am certain that it will be. Alone in life, alone in death. How fitting.
My pain and fatigue is starting to slip away. I know that I do not have much longer in this world.
I pray that the others make it out alive. Dying here is too cruel a death for anyone to suffer.
Still, I have a feeling that I'm not the first one of us nations to have succumbed to the Thing here. I can only hope that they were not alone, that someone was with them in their final hours.
And I can only hope that those who die here in the future are not alone. For I have a foreboding feeling that I will not be the last of us to die in this place. I don't know why I feel it; I just do.
My vision blurs, slowly beginning to darken and fade away. My strength is decaying, and it takes everything I have to force my diaphragm to move, to keep my lungs going. I can feel my heartbeat decreasing, the blood flowing from wounds stopping not out of healing, but out of dying.
My head slumps to the side, no longer able to stay upright. Slowly, I close my eyes, knowing that it will be the very last time.
And with that final action, I feel myself slip away from this world to the next, to be forgotten for the last time in my life.