Hetalia Deaths

Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany)

Now that the Allies have been covered, here begins the Axis. First, of course, is Ludwig, who was a victim of memory loss and died in a coma (This explains the whole Holy Rome being Germany thing, not really an aspect of Germany's personality. So, although it's not really about the Germany we know, I still like this one).
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It didn't quite feel like an impact, at least not to him. He remembered the sound, the distinct crunching of metal as it folded in on itself and broke apart. He remembered the cascade of sharp glass pieces, their edges gleaming in the pale streetlight, letting loose an ear-splitting scream as they broke apart, before finally falling with the melody of a thousand tiny bells. He remembered the force traveling through his body but, for the life of him, he could not remember an impact. He was peacefully driving along the road and then, suddenly, everything was different.

Now, you see, that event was the confine of his memory. He could remember being pulled from inside of the scrunched metal heap, going to the hospital, being bandaged up, and given painkillers that managed to give him the sweet release of sleep for several hours. But, unfortunately, along with the effects of the painkillers, his former memories were gone.

Whatever hospital he was sitting in, baffled by his lack of memory, it reeked of antiseptic. It was as though every surface was infused with the vile stuff. It almost made Ludwig gag when he first woke up, although his nostrils stung a lot less now. Along with the strong scent of alcohol, and not the pleasure-inducing kind, was the presence of the color white. It was everywhere. White walls, white sheets, white hospital gown. It seemed as though the entire building had been bleached, stripped of color so much that it seemed the physical embodiment of the color white.

Suddenly, his door opened, revealing yet more white. Except this man wasn't a doctor like the other visitors he'd received in the past several hours. His hair matched the rest of the room, and his skin was damn close to doing so as well, but his eyes were a shock of red that practically glowed in the fluorescent light. He hastily pulled up a plastic chair, metal feet scraping harshly against the floor. He rested his hands on the bedspread and looked between them and Ludwig.

As they sat in silence for a moment, Ludwig realized that the man was trembling, his hands quivering as he desperately clutched at the pristine white hospital bed sheets beside Ludwig's left hand. Ludwig couldn't quite understand why this man was so upset over him. As far as Ludwig could tell, neither of them had met before.

"When they told me about what happened, I kind of imagined the worst scenario, you know? They say that's kinda what you're supposed to do, though." He paused for a moment. "So I came rushing over here. Probably almost killed a couple 'a people. I know it was reckless, and you always tell me not to do that sort of thing. I really am sorry, but I think you understand, right Ludwig?" He finished, smiling timidly and scratching the back of his neck, as if he was nervous.

"I-I'm sorry, but do I know you? I can't place your face." Ludwig responded quietly.

The man's face instantly fell, as if he had just received a terminal diagnosis. He looked at Ludwig, eyes wide and wild with fear and disbelief and something he couldn't quite place.

"What do you mean you can't place my face?" He leaned away from Ludwig, the shaking that was earlier controlled was now seizing the white-haired man's frame.

"I'm sorry, but I-"

"No. Don't finish. Just don't, Ludwig." He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the white plastic chair. He backed away, and just before he turned toward the door, Ludwig saw the tears heavy in his eyes.

Who was he? Ludwig realized that he must have been someone very close to him, someone dear to him, so why, for the love of God, could he not remember? It made his own eyes sting at the thought.