Voices

by Dark Fairytales and Snow Fish

The Belgian couldn't stand the voices in his head. They were horrible. They made him do it. He did it though and he deserves to rot forever. CHARACTER DEATH. Snapped!Belgium. Mentally insane!Belgium.

" I hate you."

He muttered it to himself over and over again. The blonde man was sitting on the ruined wood floor, rocking himself back and forth. His fingers were bleeding fore just a few minutes before - the man had been scratching at the walls, howling and screaming.

Tears would no longer come. He no longer had enough liquids in his body to do so. Then again though, why should he even have the pleasure of crying? He didn't deserve it. He deserved nothing. Not even death would be a good enough punishment for him.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU!"

It was starting again. The voices. They wouldn't leave him alone. Oh, those voices. They chanted and they chanted. They had chanted back when he had done it too. Why couldn't they just go away? How did this even start? What was wrong with him?

The Belgian was brought to whimpering and small cries.

"Oh God. Please. Please leave me alone! No more! You already took everything I loved and cared about. What else do you want for me?"

He could barely hear the voices as they mumbled inside his head. 'Remember. Remember. Remember. Remember.' Yet, how could he forget?

How could he forget the screams of his daughter as he dragged her by the hair and slammed her against the wall? What else could he remember besides her screams of terror and begging as he tore her stomach open, making her watch? What evil demon would not imagine the things he did when she started choking on her own blood that he caused? Maybe it was the other things too. Like when he raped his best friend and beat her until her head was smashed in. Or what about when he took his girlfriend to the bathroom, filled up the bath tub, and dunked her head under water multiple times for long minutes before finally getting bored and really drowning her? Then there was his other best friend too, the Spaniard. He remembered how he hung her by her arms and let her swing from a height he knew she feared.

'Remember. Remember. Remember.'

"I REMEMBER," he screamed.

'Clean. Clean. Clean. Clean. Clean.' Their voices raised as they yelled at him. The blonde refused though. No. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't drag the bloody and broken bodies out of the room. He DESERVED to see what he had done. He deserved to sit there and shiver and shake while he stared at the carcasses of his beloved.

He deserved it all.