Forgotten | Countryhumans

Forgotten

Hello! Before you read, PLEASE check the warnings I put in the description.

This story is told in a third person view, but there is one POV moment.

This is written how my big brain wanted to write it, so something's maybe different from whatever a cannon countryhumans world is.

I tried doing a German accent, bare with me here, I don't speak German.

Sorry if anything offends anyone

You have been warned! Enjoy!

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The slamming of stone and dirt crashed into the German's face. Yes it hurt, but he didn't dare make a sound. Instead he just laid there on the cold floor.
His thoughts shuffling about as he heard the sound of a rusty cell door being slammed closed, followed by the sound of soldier's footsteps. The German simply laid there, alone, regretful, sinking in his misery.

What where they going to do to him? They wouldn't just put him in a cell to kill him. That would be useless and a waste of time. Surely they had to wanted him dead, but if they had truly wanted that they would of killed him a long time ago. So what was the point of him being here? He couldn't put his finger on it. So he waited, he didn't know how long.

The movements behind his cell door could be heard, presumably from the other prisoners and guards. Every once in a while hearing a train go by and yelling outside. He didn't care to look at the commotion, why should he? It's not like he was leaving anytime soon.

Laying on the ground like the trash he is, the cold winds of the town he used to own running over him. there was nothing left for him, nothing at all.

Eventually, he moved to a wall, leaning on it silently. He didn't deserve the rotting mattress in the room. He deserved to suffer, but was this really his punishment? Being trapped in a box with no hope to escape. Why even try, he had no where to go anyways. No one wanted him, no one cared for him, no one loved him.

Everyone wanted him dead, they wanted to forget his existence. He was a mistake anyways, though he was never told that, he knew.

He would always be apart of his country history though, no matter what. Like a very, very ugly scare that you could never get rid of. Generations after generations would hear about him, about all the horrible things his country did. And how there was nothing he could do about it now.

He was just a small bag of blood and flesh, they didn't even see him as a person. Just a freak. A monster.

The little man couldn't help but take a small look at the dimly lit rooms outside of his cell. Not very surprisingly, his eyes went to a communist flag hanging on the wall, over his once proud country; this is what he deserves.

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No one really knew how much time had passed, they only given him one, sad little roll of bread a day and some water.

He had no life.

The little broken light barely dwelled down into his room. You could barely see. No one wanted to look anyways.

No one even dared to clean it, how sad, how disgusting. The small creature that lived in the room was barely surviving. Yes, countryhumans could live longer and through worst things then humans, thats just how they were. But that didn't mean less food, water, or proper hygiene wouldn't hurt them.

The little German could feel his weakness, he could feel the pain of his new and old scares. They wanted him to feel something, anything but the disgust that was around him.