Memories: Rewritten

Chapter 7: Shattered

The dull roll of thunder roused Germany from unconsciousness. His eyes slowly opened as the sensation in his limbs returned. The grey light from the overcast sky left his bedroom void of all color. Sitting up, he fumbled through his pocket for his phone. Evidently, his lifetime-long float through limbo only lasted 15 minutes. He texted England:

I'm coming over right now. We need to talk. Urgent. Don't tell anyone.

As his sense of smell returned, he quickly tied the garbage bag of vomit shut and opened the window. Prussia and Austria could not find out what had happened. Germany needed to ventilate the room as quickly as possible and he hoped the storm would bring gusts of wind through the open pane. The coolness of the rain drops finely sprinkling his hands made him realize how clammy his skin felt. He decided to change his clothes, hoping that shedding them would help rid him of the sensation. He slipped into baggy sweatpants and a black tank top, clothes he seldom left the house in, but he no longer felt like his usual self. Picking up the garbage can, he quietly exited his room, softly shutting the door to avoid making a sound. Germany then rushed to the bathroom.

Setting the bin on the floor, he avoided looking at the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Even when his head rose to return his toothbrush to the cup near the sink, he avoided eye contact. It was only when he finished splashing water on his face and reached for a towel that he caught a glimpse of a ghastly face he assumed was his own. Finally giving in, he stared at the person before him. His hair, normally slicked back, fell in choppy pieces across his forehead. The dark circles beneath his eyes tugged his skin downward to create sullen shadows. His complexion ran void of all color. He appeared as horrible as he felt.

Stumbling on Holy Rome and falling into debilitating pain granted him an out-of-body experience that continued even in consciousness. When he lay on the floor, his soul detached itself from his physical form and stood outside himself. He watched his body writhe in pain, saw his vision fall into flashes of color, listened to voices paint themselves in the crevices of his mind. His soul felt child-sized as it was crushed into submission by the dream occurring in real-time. Even now, restored to his body and able to move, his mind felt disconnected, almost like it had not been plugged back into himself.

The dream. It appeared to him clearer than ever before, the dialogue longer and the visuals more concrete. The voices repeated the long-forgotten name of Holy Rome. Holy Rome. It didn't make sense. How could he know himself as Germany, yet mindlessly respond to a name he'd never heard before? How could he hear Prussia's voice utter the name of someone he'd never known? The man in the mirror was no longer his complete self. He was split in two, his physical form a shell of Germany and his mind an amalgamation of fading senses, despondency, and distrust. His faith in the truth faltered with each passing day. His relationship with Prussia fell farther into ruin. His grip on reality, his life as he'd known it, further slipped into limbo. He was nothing. He didn't care how forlorn he would appear to England. What did it matter? He was nothing.

He double-bagged the garbage bag and rinsed out the bin with soap and water. Collecting everything he needed to bring outside, he swiftly escaped the bathroom, bolted down the stairs, and made it out the front door without seeing Prussia and Austria. Throwing the bag in the outdoor garbage bin on the way to his car, he tossed his small can in the backseat and jumped into the driver's seat. As the car sprung to life, its wipers went to work in clearing droplets from the windshield. The clear glass only remained pristine for a moment before more splatters appeared, their tails trickling down and warping the perception of the world. In Germany's eyes, everything was warped.

He backed out of the driveway and made his way towards England's house. He was chosen for a myriad of reasons, one being that England was one of the wisest and oldest countries in Europe. Germany was certain he could shed more light as to who Holy Rome was and what happened to him. The rivalry between him and France was also well-known and Germany sought to capitalize on their discrepancies: if France stood to profit from concealing information, England would surely undermine his upper hand. It was one of the only options Germany had left.