Eyes of an examerican[remake]

chapter 13

Mister Williams is acting very strangely today.

A young female called Samantha Vanpool thought as she stood obediently behind the chair of the distressed man.

She smirked slightly.

That's... satisfying.

Across the room another nation raised an eyebrow at her almost cruel expression. His name... Holy Ro- Germany. She nodded at him before looking at the ground. What was that name she almost called him? She shook her head slightly, the memory came from a being with a different name and a different life. A being who really two beings who was long dead.

Casting the thought out of her mind she once again focused on her employer. The violet eyed man was alive but he was dead because the same one who was really two beings that could be more, many more, who was dead never had a brother who had a brother so they must both have never existed.

She bit her lip, it was getting difficult to tell which memories were hers and which were the ones that should never had existed because the one who made them was dead and the one who held them was long gone.

Who were they? She couldn't remember, or couldn't, maybe wouldn't...

A.

The one who was two had a name that started with the letter 'A.'

Ash? Anthony? Aaron? Arthur? A flinch on that name. But why?

Big bro-

Engw-

-made these for-

Who had these memories? Was it- it couldn't be.

And none of her other... forms? Bodies? Containers of her soul? Or was it his- or theirs? None of them were responsible for these memories...

So she- he- they had blocked the memories as much as they can, but it was a weak dam and a tidal wave.

Because if it was his memories then- But he, the one who was two or more, was dead. Dead, six feet under, didn't come back from the afterlife.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

She bit on her lip harder. Who was he? Or she? It? What was it? It that couldn't be named and It that was never cared for.

Hell, even Death itself had sent It back.

It.

It because it was not dead and not alive either. It because it was nameless and refused a single name.

And she, the pretty young woman with the violet eyes and silver hair?

She remembered caring for It. It before it became the lost and nameless It.

But she was dead, but not dead. She who couldn't be alive but couldn't be dead either because of It who, like her or made her, be merely an existence who walked on a shattered plane of existence, neither because the hellish and horrible Life or sweet and beautiful Death would accept either or any of them.

But she had a name and It didn't.

But why did she have a name when It didn't?

Was she special? Was all the other bodies and forms she became special because they had a name when It didn't? Or was It just unlucky?

But she-they-we-he- I am the same as all of you.

Them.

Him.

Her.

Us.

So are they alike?

But It's dead and she's not alive and they aren't here nor there.

Blood trickles down from where her teeth penetrated her lips and questions- or were they one question?- floods her mind.

Who are they?

Who am I?

Who are we?

Who was It?

It- was...

She needed to remember but she didn't want to remember because she couldn't take down the dam but the flood was swelling bigger and bigger.

But the dam was cracked and she couldn't fix it because she wanted but didn't want to take it down and-

No, don't-

-Am-

-need your help!

-my way-

-eri-

You're my-

-sident was killed-

-ca!

-dissolved-

4:00

Why did-

My br-

-me alone!

Save-

-other!

Cana-

So alon-

-Rome?

-nada, don't!

No, they-

-irginia and the-

Al-

-falt, my-

-fre-

-sent back.

Don't leave-

Alfr-

-leave me-

Alfre-

-me alone!

Her body shook.

America. My brother. Canada. Alf-

Blackness.

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