AN: This is M for Gore and Horror. Faint of heart DO NOT READ. Anyone else, enjoy.

He stared at the creamy paper, clean and fresh on the desk in front of him. He barely touched it, keeping certain to avoid coating it with fingerprints. He reached for his pens, calligraphy ones coated in gold and sharpened to a fine point for filling out forms and signing documents. Little did they know what the pen's final use would be. It's final, more sinister use.

He picked it up gently, fingering the shining tip gently like a long lost treasure. He pulled it closer to him, towards his face and kissed it, barely skimming the edge. One of his arms slowly pulled away, it's movements precise and calculated. He traced the vein down his arm, dipping around his hand, not applying pressure, but letting it touch every inch of his bare wrist. He moved it further still, exploring the back of his hand with the precious sharp metal. It made it's way around, landing on the exposed palm.

Finally it began to dig in slightly, creating a small dip in the clean unmarked skin. It began to go further, making a tiny hole in the centre of his palm. A crimson red began to spring up as he carefully dug deeper, slowly creating a miniature pool of blood and dead skin tissue. He allowed it to continue bleeding as he took the pen, tip now coloured in scarlet, and brought it to the paper. Making absolutely certain he did not drip on his unblemished canvas, he began to write in his perfect handwriting.

This is my final goodbye. I shall never say another word. I have lived a thousand years, and could live a thousand more if I so chose. I have given up. In that time, there was darkness. The few lights I had extinguished through either their mortality or through my own errors. I lost the one I held dearest to my heart, from my own folly. I see now I was incorrect and take all the blame for what has happened. I pray he finds it in his heart to forgive this old man of his stupidity. I see now I pushed away the only people who I ever could have found happiness with, friendship and family. Throughout my love tiresome life, my mistakes have cost me everything. I am sorry. I never truly said the one thing I should have. America, I love you. First it was like a parent would, then like a sibling. Eventually it changed. By the time I realised I loved you as more, you were gone. We would not see each other for a hundred years, and once we did I acted standoffish and like an idiot. I am sorry for that, for all the insults. I just kept trying to keep the shield up, to not show how overjoyed I was at seeing you again or how much it twisted my heart to know you most likely hated me for my mistakes. I can not go on in this way, I cannot survive through more world meetings and diplomatic dinners. It was slowly killing me. I just quickened it's work. Goodbye world, goodbye life, goodbye my love.

~Arthur Kirkland

England

He pulled away, leaving the note scripted in his own blood on the desk to dry. A single tear dripped down his face and into his half open mouth. He silently mouthed the word "goodbye" as he set the bloody pen down on the table, staining the ancient wood. Smiling bitterly he reached his right hand into his pocket, searching through the silk for the small tablet. Reaching it, he brought it out. He fingered it, running it around and around, studying every last aspect. Finally, he brought it up to his mouth, slipping it through his lips. He lied down on the cold marble floor of his library as his eyes began to flutter shut. Goodbye.