Hello everyone. Kitty29 here with a short angsty story about Canada. Got the idea midnight last night and wrote it up in like, half an hour so it's not the greatest. But I always wanted to do an angsty fic with Canada, so I'm rather pleased with it ^^
UnBeta'd cause it's just a short little oneshot. So there probably some spelling mistakes. T for swearing.
Please enjoy and review.
Ever since Matthew could remember he'd only had one goal in life.
Get Love.
He couldn't remember when he had decided this or how it had come about. Maybe it was due to the neglect he had received from both of his father figures as a child. Maybe it was the never getting recognized as himself. Honestly, he couldn't give a damn about how it came to be. What mattered was that it was now a code he lived by, his mantra, the sole reason he was still breathing.
Get Love. Getlovegetlovegetlovegetlove.
It was like a game with its own set of rules. Get a chance to speak at a world meeting? 10 points. Get people to actually listen to you speak at a world meeting? 20 points. Actually have people listen to you and not have a questioning look in their eye as they struggle with your identity? 1000 points!
So Matthew goes on and on, reaching and reaching to fully and completely reach his goal but he's noticed his own change. He's noticed that as the years go by more and more rules begin to add themselves to his game.
Get someone to wave at you and call your name? 25 points. Manage to get though a whole conversation with someone about something other then who you are? 50 points. Have sex with a nation or at least someone of importance? 100 points. Have sex with a nation or someone of importance and have them call your correct name? 1000 points!
It was really pathetic. He was pathetic. As every day, every week, every month, every year rolled by he grew more and more desperate to fulfill his mission. Could he really keep this up? Could he really do this for another year?
It was July 1, his birthday and who called him? His brother. His perfect, heroic, perfect model of a fucking brother. What was his call about? To brag about his own birthday three days away. That everyone was attending and that he had to get him a present. Then he hung up. Hung up without a 'happy birthday' or 'have a good day' or even a simple 'goodbye.'
It was days like this that Matthew realizes his way of life isn't working. No matter what he does or how hard he tries to please, people could still care less about him. He wasn't getting love, he was just becoming more of a whore.
He put three bullets in his gun and took off the safety. It always took him a whole year to work up the courage to do this and for the past—who knows how many years anymore—he had been lucky. So this year he decided to up the ante. 6 slots, 3 filled with the sweet promise of death. A true daily double, a 'to be or not to be'. 50/50 chance.
He raised the gun to his temple before quickly reading over the note in his hand. If this year was truly his year than the fucking sons of bitches needed to know exactly who caused this. Those assholes needed to deal with the fact that they could have stopped all this if they had just gotten off their lazy asses. They too, needed to be driven into the hell he lived in each day so that they would know just what they did to him.
He settled himself deeper into his armchair as he glanced up at the clock. It was just a few minutes after midnight meaning that it was no longer his birthday. Not one person wished him happiness on this day. A common occurrence.
Matthew pulled the trigger.
Click
…
…
…
He crumbled up the note as he lowered the gun. Well. Another year it is.
…
He would get Alfred a present in the morning.