Matthew sat on his bed staring at the metal weapon in front of him. He grasped the Colt 1851 Navy Revolver and raised the barrel to his head. Silent tears ran down his face as he placed his finger on the trigger. He could deal with being mistaken as Alfred and his birthday forgotten but he couldn't stand it when he was treated as if he was invisible. It killed him a little on the inside everytime someone said 'who' or 'what did you say' when his beloved country was mentioned. He was the second largest country in the world and he was somehow forgotten. His brother called him his clone and Arthur always forgot he even existed, his own father...
More tears fell down his cheeks as he slowly pressed down on the small piece of metal that would end his misery. He could hear the gun start to cock as pressed harder. The gun went off and his eyes widened when he felt the bullet tear through his skull. The metal bullet exited the left side taking grey matter with it and his lifeless body slumped forward to floor.
Matthew awoke with start, gasping for air. He looked around identifying the area around him as his basement. He looked to the left and saw fleshy chunks splattered against the wall.
It didn't work. He sat in the basement crying his eyes out when a pair of arms wrapped around him muttering comforting words in french. He sobbed into the chest of the blond haired man speaking the silky language. Gentle fingers caressed his soft golden hair and back as his arms laid limp at his sides. He had forgotten that he still had one person who never failed to remember him. Francis.