Isolated in a gloomy and misty forest is a panicked slender man who has short, messy blonde hair, and lime green eyes. He’s running, avoiding all obstacles nature throws at him panting picking up his speed. “Alfred! Alfred Jones!” His voice boomed throughout the dense forest as he wiped mud from his face that had begun to slide into his eyes.
“I‘m filthy,” he mumbled, disgusted to himself, shaking his head shortly after. “No time to worry about my cleanliness. I have to find Alfred.” With a nod of his head, he advanced with an unflinching determination.
Hours upon hours of searching for his lost son had past; he was beginning to lose hope in ever finding Alfred. He couldn’t yell for his voice was now hoarse and strained. It even hurt to whisper. If that wasn’t enough, his legs were beginning to give out. Every step grew heavier forcing him to his hands and knees with a low thud. “Alfred… Where are you?” He whispered his cheeks stained with his salty tears, that streamed down from his red and puffy eyes.
Slowly opening the front door, he peered inside. Within the household, he could see his husband Francis cooking, the alluring smell of the Frenchman’s freshly cooked Chateaubriand steak entering his nasal cavity. He took a good deep whiff of it and slowly closed the door behind him. He weakly smiled at the blonde shoulder-length-haired male, with blue almost violet eyes. “Bonjour, Arthur. Where’s Alfred?” Francis asks gently kissing his cheek, the little stubbles on his chin brushing softly against Arthur soft skin.
Arthur slowly looked at Matthew then back at Francis. “Follow me.” he motioned towards his bedroom, locking the door behind them with a soft sigh. “I lost him,” he turned around, “in the forest.” Francis’s eyes grew wide. “What?! You lost Alfred?!” he cried devastated, “Where is he? Is he still out there?” He panicked, lunging towards the door handle. “I couldn’t find him. I searched everywhere for hours on end. I don’t know where he possibly could have gone.” He admitted hanging his head, ashamed. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I lost my son. He’s gone.”
Quickly Francis pulled him into a tight embrace with a loving kiss. A few seconds passed and he released, “Non. Don’t say that, Arthur. It’s not your fault. Alfred runs off all the time, we’ll find him. I swear. Get some rest. I’ll call the police department. They’ll find him.” He reassured as Arthur nodded, slowly walking to his bed, laying down.
Laying down wide awake, Arthur tossed and turned. “Bloody hell! How does that frog expect me to sleep while my son is missing? It’s impossible!” he growled angrily slamming his fists against the mattress. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he set his palms against his forehead. “I shouldn’t be mad at Francis. It’s my fault Alfred is alone, and it’s all my fault. I’m the only one here to blame.” He quietly rose from his bed and slowly opened the door. Looking left and right he scanned around making sure Matthew and Francis weren’t wandering about.
Once he was positive they were in bed he crept down to the cellar, locking the door, and began grabbing as much alcohol he could get his hands on. Sliding down the cellar’s door he began opening the alcohol bottles and chugged them down. Nothing mattered anymore, he wanted it all to end. It had to end. However he was only a country, and being a country came the torture of being immortal. He was forced the stay alive to endure the pain and suffering. “Please be safe... Please…” he cried to himself holding the bottle close to his body.
