Hetalia Deaths

Arthur Kirkland (England)

PLEASE READ!!!
All of the characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the theory was written by deviantart's SailerInfoerno12908, so credit for this sad, but wonderful, theory must be given to them.

First, I'll write about England who, in his human life as Arthur Kirkland, was a drug addict who died of an overdose of hallucinogenic drugs. This explains the 'imaginary friends' he sees as a nation.
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"Why does it have to be so bloody cold all the damn time?" Arthur murmured to himself, his voice slurred and broken.

It might have been the English air, heavy with crisp mist that bit at Arthur's exposed face. Or it might have been Arthur himself. His body was thin and frail, his cheekbones prominent and his cheeks sunken and sallow. He looked as though he would be blown over by the smallest wind.

He didn't care to venture out these days. Not for groceries. Not for new clothes. Not to repair the faucet that had been dripping for three months. Not for the drafty window, even though it was the one thing he couldn't stand. It whispered softly, softly in his ear. 'Arthur, oh Arthur. Come here.'

'Ha ha! Never! Damn your trickery!' He would screech, pointing at it accusingly. Arthur tended to talk not only to the window, but to himself as well. It comforted him. After all, he was oh-so-alone.

The only reason he was struggling through the cold, ice-glazed streets was to get more of the one thing he craved. Marc, who he was going to see, called it PSP, or angel dust if he was trying to advertise. As if he needed advertisement! Who wouldn't want beloved angel's dust?

Arthur liked to think of it as angel dust. Only the angels could bless us pitiful scum with such a sweet vision of heaven! Yes, yes! Heaven! He needed to see more... More! He was one step closer. Around the corner now. Into the ally, yes. Where monsters lurked behind boxes and in the dark corners, jumping out at him and trying to take him away.

"You won't take me away!" He muttered as he entered the ally. "You won't take me away... you won't take me... you won't take me... you won't take me..."

"Shit, Arthur. You sound like a damn broken record." Marc was there, his arms crossed. Dressed in that damn brown ratty hoody. You see, it attracted the demons. They were around him all the time. How could Marc not see them?

Arthur saw them.

"Bastard, you voice is fucking annoying." Was Arthur's response. "Like a thousand knives splitting me right down the middle."

"Like hell I care." Marc said. "Do you want your stuff or not?"

"Of-of course I do! That's what I'm here for. Give it to me!" Arthur's hands reached out and grabbed at Marc's arms, yanking at the jacket.

"What are you doing, you bastard?" Marc tried to shove him off.

"Can't you see them? They're all over you! The demons!" Arthur looked frantic and he grasped at the empty air around Marc. "They'll take you away! You can't leave me. No no no no no no."

"Fuck, man, you look like shit. I've dealt to a lot of fucked up people, but you're prob'ly the worst. I mean, look atcha. You're so damn pale."

"Being pale is a sign of royalty you know! Can't you see my crown? It's so pretty and gold!"

"Just give me your money and take this." He held up a bag full of his precious angel's dust. "It'll be fifty."

"Here, here!" Arthur dug in the pockets of the jacket that was now far too large on him. "You can even keep the change."

Arthur snatched the bag and threw a ten euro note and a few paper clips at the dealer. He stumbled away, clutching the bag to his chest. Marc stood, bewildered.