I tumble in a ball out of a door. I look up to see I cloud of fighting countries. This must be the world meeting!

England and France strangle each other and try to roll over, only swaying side-to-side. Canada is in the corner with his bear. I decide that he might be safest to approach.

"Hi," I say, walking up to him.

He gasps. "A-are you talking to- to me?" He seems stunned. I nod.

"Hello, um, are you Canada?"

He nods as we both turn to look at the commotion. Hungary swings her frying pan and nearly hits Poland, who is admiring his own nails. Sealand sits at a chair, staring. Greece lay asleep on the table, but Turkey quietly approaches from behind. He nearly attacks when he is hit by a pin, thrown by Romano.

Pin. Thrown. Romano.

Pin. Romano.

Romano.

I scream at him, the grenade in his mouth. This isn't getting much better.

Austria is in the corner playing dramatic music. Suddenly, Spain plucks the grenade from Romano's mouth and throws it out of the window.

America is doing who-knows-what with what looks like a giant gun. Russia is smiling and holding a giant pickaxe.

Suddenly, Germany starts ranting.