Alptraum

Chapter 1: Nightmare

His arm. The way it was raised. Slicing through midair, ready to sacrifice the unknown. He swore to himself that if he ever saw someone's arm in that position again, he would break it.
The arm, not the person. Although, he might as well destroy the person, too.
The problem was, he was trying to work up the courage to attack the man who was saluting, but he couldn't. Maybe because the form was ghost-like, and seemed to feel like vapor when he came in contact with him. Or, maybe it was because the man who was smiling and saluting in a sick and evil way was bringing back too many painful memories, and the plaguing recollections were keeping him frozen in place.
Or, maybe it was because the enemy he was facing was himself.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Germany screamed, stalking up to the figure.
"DON'T SALUTE THAT WAY! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING?"
It felt odd to be scolding himself, but he couldn't let this happen.
Not again.
"STOP!" He was practically begging now, running up to his duplicate.
The figure didn't seem like it could hear Germany's desperate pleading, and it carried on with its business.
"You don't know what you're doing. Please don't do this again, you're going to kill millions of innocent people," Germany hissed, softer this time.
Yet again, no response.
"DON'T FOLLOW HIS RULE! PLEASE STOP! I STILL GO THROUGH PAIN OF THAT WHOLE EXPERIENCE!" Germany could feel his anger boil up inside him. If this, "other him," wouldn't listen, he would have to become violent.
"Please-" Germany started, but abruptly stopped as the figure turned its head, still having a twisted smile planted on its face. Germany stumbled back a bit, soaking in the all-too-familiar face. Back when he was brainwashed into doing the unthinkable.
The figure finally opened its mouth to speak.
"HEIL HITL-"
"NEIN!" The true Germany yelled as he shot up in bed.
It was just a dream. All just a harrowing, twisted dream. So why did the German feel tears start to well up behind his eyes.?
He would not cry. He was a man! He had his dignity and pride to maintain. He would not cry. It was just an idiotic dream, anyway.
He
Would
Not
Cry.
Gott verdammt. (Sure you can guess what this one means.)
He felt a few hot tears escape his eyes and start to roll down his cheeks. He furiously wiped them away. He commanded himself to stop crying, but his body wouldn't listen.
A few more tears trailed down his cheeks and he angrily slapped them away. There was no need for a grown man to cry about a stupid dream.
A sudden, loud sob escaped him, and he instantly slapped a hand over his mouth. Why had he emitted such a sound of distress when he was trying to stop himself from being upset?
The only upside to this situation is that there was no one around to see him like this.
"Germany?" A soft, sleepy voice broke through the silence of the quiet night.
Einfach perfekt. (Just perfect)