Hetalia Stuff

Shattered Glass (Prussia Oneshot)

A breaking point is something a person hits when they just can't take it anymore, and crack like a glass of water, causing it to spill out, but I'm... I'm beyond that. My water is long spilt, and my glass is long shattered.

Is this it?

Is this going to be my last fall?

My fall... It has no grace. It is brutal and agonizing, yet surely it has to be my last, for in this life, I am strapped to a pole and forced to watch as the flames lap me up.

Sometimes, there is temporary bliss, when I am blindfolded, but there is no extinguishing the fire.

It consumes me whole, until I am nothing but ash.

Yet...

I am fine with that.

Any passion or life that beat within me is no longer there. I am but an empty shell, waiting to be disposed of.

So I find myself falling, deep down into scarlet oblivion.

Scarlet. It is such an interesting colour. Some perceive it as bloodshed, others as love, and others yet are anger. I am cursed to have that shade in my eyes; It has brought me nothing but suffering.

Ah well, pain is an old friend, one I gladly embrace.

Ironic, isn't it? Death used to seem like a faraway nightmare, yet now it is an in reach dream.

I want and need no savior, for I am beyond saving. I crave pain, the blinding sort. Life has lost it's appeal to me long, long ago.

As I fall, I wonder the one question every dying man asks themselves; "Will I be missed?" Maybe momentarily by some, yet they'll forget me soon enough, just as I have forgotten myself.

Now I have always loathed beating around the bush, so as I finally see the bottom of the pit, I await death with welcoming arms, in false hopes of receiving some final mercy.

I am inches away from my resting place, and so I, Gilbert Beilschmidt, the once great Preußen, say my final farewell to my life-long torment.

Let not a stone tell where I lie. 

I am so fucking sorry for this.

I just wrote it while being really pissed/upset/depressed/everything in between when my dad didn't allow me to use Wattpad.

This is why a sad me should not be given a notebook and pen.