Hetalia ~ Arthur's Disease

Arthur's Disease

"Any last words?" The officer asked, American accent crystal clear. Arthur just grinned.

"Yeah. I admit, I killed them. Every last one of them. They made me feel like shit. All I'd have to do is walk into the room, and every eye would be on me. Every orb filled with hatred while every face stayed emotionless. My own son, he hated me. After everything I did for him; fed him, cleaned him, clothed him. And he pointed a gun at me, threatening to shoot. So I shot first.

My lover. He left me. He told me I was a bad influence on his child; stupid Frenchman. It was a surprise he even remembered to take his child with him... Oh wait. He didn't."

Arthur let out a humourless laugh, pale face twisting into a look of pure malice.

"He screamed at his son to run and hide, thinking I wouldn't find him. Then the man tried to fight back; he threatened to stab me. So I stabbed him first. Then I found his child.

All my friends were talking about me behind my back. Saying I'd lost it; gone completely off my rocker. I could see things they couldn't. I was called a lunatic for it. I killed them. All of them. With my bare hands."

Arthur's head snapped up, his cold, emotionless eyes wide with madness.

"I may be crazy, but I don't care. I can live in peace now. Not having their hate constantly directed at me. And do you know what the best part is? I still have their blood on my hands!"

Arthur whispered the last sentence, before breaking into insane laughter. All the guns pointing at him cocked, ready to fire at any moment. Arthur, as if realising the situation, calmed down and cleared his throat.

"Another funny thing is, I'll live forever like this. I won't die from you pathetic mortals. I'll stand tall as a country! Great Britain herself thrives inside of me! I can't die! I'll be forever trapped in this hell called life!" A single laugh escaped him, before a random gun went off, the bullet striking him in the centre of the chest.

BANG

BANG

BANG

Three shots were heard. A puddle of blood was seen. The smell of death was in the air. The officers all trembled from the vast amount of madness which had erupted from that man, leaving a bitter taste in their mouths.

After the body was cleared up from the execution room, one of the younger officers ran up to his superior. "What really happened to him?" He asked, but the commander didn't turn, simply staring straight ahead into the bloody room.

"There was no lover. There were no friends. There was no child or son. He imagined it all. He was mental. The man started killing random people. He was a threat to society, and there was no telling what he would have done next. We had to put him down; out of his misery. Now," the officer turned to the youngster with a stern look on his old face.

"This will not get out to the public. It is on a strict gag order. If you say so much as a peep..." The officer raised his hand up to his neck, and made a slashing like gesture with it, demonstrating what would happen.

The youngster jumped at the motion, nodding rapidly as the elder man sighed heavily, and walked out the room. The young officer sighed as well, before taking his Squat mask off to reveal his face.

Sandy blonde hair with a single piece sticking up in a cowlick. Bright, sky blue eyes; inquisitive orbs which looked around the room through rectangular spectacles.

"A son, huh?" Alfred F Jones whispered.