Macabre // A Countryhumans Story

Chapter 1 ~ La Danse Macabre

Camille Saint-Saëns ~ La Danse Macabre
The Dance of Death

Twelve strokes of midnight.

France looked out the window. He watched as water droplets raced to the bottom to claim themself victorious. He closed his eyes as he breathing in the cool air around him, listening to the water landing on the stone pathway outside his door. France leaned into the broom that he held as he stared into the darkening sky as God cried.

He liked the soothing sound of the rain. It would take his minds off of the longing thought of his father. It would take his mind off the person that he killed. France exhaled sharply as that memory crept back up on him. The blood had splattered across the floor. He remembered the way that the man had stared back up at him in horror and fear. France had shown no mercy towards him and cared nothing of his life.

The memories plagued him. They kept him down and tore him apart from the inside out. He did not care for this man. He wanted him dead. Though from beyond the grave, he still taunts him.

France sighed and opened his eyes, still looking out the window to the racing drops of rain, watching as the one he favored was beat by the one he didn't want to win. He felt like a child rooting for one raindrop over the other, though turned away from the window so he wouldn't be annoyed that his one didn't win.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and he was sure that he was going insane as he whipped around and there was no one there. He must've just been imagining things for something like that to have happened. No one else was in his house and he was sure of it. So it wasn't too pleasing when he felt someone tap him on his other shoulder. France dropped the broom and turned just as fast as he felt the taps. He didn't know who was doing this but he wasn't happy about it.

Yelling out or asking who was there was only inviting the ghosts so spinning around like a dumb ass worked much better for France up until tripping over the broom and falling to the floor. Though instead of hitting the floor, hands grabbed him from under his arms. He was grateful for not hitting his head against the floor though was shocked that someone was holding him now.

It certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen at this moment but it wasn't pleasant with having someone that he didn't know the certain identity of be holding him. So as any reasonable person he looked up to get a glance of their face.

Upon catching sight of their face, his eyes widened. "Let go of me!" France screeched and pushed away from the Prussian man that happened to catch him.

"What do you want!" France shouted, almost scared to hear the reply. He was only met be a silent laugh, Prussia turning his head to the side and smiling to himself. He was always so sly. France still waited for a reply, standing his ground. "Say something!" He didn't dare move any closer to the man.

He spoke, slow and steady. His words sounded thought out as it to find the correct combination of words to piss him off the most, "Come on France, you know why I'm here." His hand extended out, his palm to the sky. He was offering for France to take it. France stared at the hand, boney and pale. It looked ghastly, almost unreal. He had bad feelings about even touching it but curiosity did get the best of him. He reached out and placed his hand in Prussia's, just in case he needed to take it away quickly. He was unnerved by how cold it was.

He didn't want to believe that this was anything more than a hallucination, which it likely was, but he didn't feel in control. It felt like Prussia was in control of the entire situation, like a puppeteer of France's mind, pulling at the strings to get him to dance and follow his commands. He couldn't figure out how to get out of this prison that he had been put it, wether it was his own mind or somehow Prussia pulling off magic stunts. He couldn't find a way out of this.