Endgame
"Wh- who are you?" Oliver gasped, his voice echoing oddly in the cool air and black and white titled corridor. He took a wary step away from the newcomer. Eyes flittering around he could see no escape except for the way he'd come.
(Except he knew he had come down here for a very specific purpose, one that fled his mind)
The black hooded figure stood tall and menacing, seeming to grow as Oliver shrank. His vision darkening, becoming tunnelled.
A ghost of a smile painted the stranger's lips and green eyes shone unnaturally in the dim light, "My name isn't important, love." He said, voice flat and dull. "The only thing you must know is my purpose." He was pacing towards Oliver now, who just stood there, struck dumb by the ridiculous situation.
Finally Oliver found his voice, and jutted out his lip like a sullen child, "What may that be, hmm?" His voice came out surprisingly strong. The man was less than two meters away, and closing in fast.
"Destruction." Came the simple reply.
Oliver was aware of a flash of silver before instinct took over and his feet took flight, spinning around on his heal, taking off down the dim hallway. Vaguely, through his own panting Oliver was aware of the other giving chase; of him cursing under his breath, hearing him chant creepily- this only served to make him run faster.
Muscles burning, crying out in fatigue he tried to force himself on, but the other was upon him faster than Oliver could manage. A kick was aimed to Oliver's shin, and he was down, down, down. Blackness claiming him, robbing him of his vision and stealing his consciousness.
""
Darkness. That's what greeted Oliver as he clawed his way out of the hazy black nightmare. In the darkness of his room the bright cheery colours he painted his walls appeared grey; the only light coming from his bedside clock blaring bright, angry red numbers claiming it to only be seven in the morning. Too early to start getting ready, but too late to go back to sleep. It was a soft, welcoming darkness Oliver found, far more calming than his dreams; he preferred peacefully dark surroundings. Oliver rolled onto his back, blinking blearily. He wasn't bothered by the nightmare; he had had many like it before, though each dream the scene carried on for longer. It was just a nonsensical dream, this much Oliver knew, however despite this, Oliver couldn't help the sinking fear that with all of the strange occurrences in his house the vision held significance.
""
Oliver felt terrible. He had been able to fall asleep again as it turned out, but then he had the same dream again. It was the first time Oliver had had two of those dreams a night, and this time the man had his knife up to Oliver's throat before he woke up.
Still, no matter how bad he felt, Oliver was a stickler for making a good impression. Due to this he had forced himself up and dressed in his best pink, cashmere vest, with a white dress shirt and tan pants, along with a new blue bowtie with lace on the ends. Pulling his brush through his choppy hair he had to acknowledge the strain the dreams were having on his physical appearance, making him seem paler than normal, and his blue eyes a bit more dull.
If there was one thing Oliver was grateful for, it was that the meeting was here in London- no long flight, no jet lag, and no crappy airport food. Moreover, he could go home as soon as it was finished. Setting out, Oliver grabbed a packed lunch of cupcakes and fairy bread- he would be the first to admit to being a fussy eater with a huge sweet tooth.
""
The meeting place was strained as usual; tense and quiet, and as just as normal he did his best to ignore it. And so, Oliver Kirkland, also known as England, entered the room smiling- resolutely ignoring any death-glares thrown his way. His stuff set down with a soft plunk, and he momentarily interrupting the unhappy silence with the scraping of the chair against the floor that caused everyone's attention to be on him.
There was an angry cough.
To say it annoyed Oliver would be an understatement, and of course every meeting would be the same: closed words, everybody suspicious of everybody, no one liking anyone enough to discuss modern issues- let alone make peace with the past. It was natural, Oliver supposed, as if they would be able to open up to old enemies enough to fix more modern problems. He understood, really he did, but he couldn't help but find it rather counterproductive, because what was the point? Why did they bother?
At exactly 12'oclock the meeting officially started; that meaning at exactly 12'oclock James Williams got up to make his speech on the importance of deforestation. Oliver found it boring to say the least; he had nothing against his former colony (the Republic of Canada) but he didn't have that many forests to start -being a warm on a warm island with grasslands aplenty- making this rather inapplicable to him.
In the dream he had clearly seen the man's facial features, Oliver even remembered noting that he had the same bushy eyebrows as him. Only that though, outside of sleep Oliver's memory faded and he only remembered what had been said and done. He was quite tired, glancing around Oliver found everyone's attention was wholly on Canada… surely he could… afford to rest a little..? Just a couple minutes… Oliver's eyes were drifting shut without his consent anyway, he couldn't have fought the sleep off if he wanted to.
A swift kick to his shin brought Oliver back to attention and he sent a grateful glance beside him, noticing Francois for the first time. The two weren't what you would call the best of friends –centuries of bloodshed could testify to that- but in the end they held each other's backs.
Glancing up Oliver was somewhat surprised to see Italy (or Luciano) standing, giving a presentation on anti-corruption and his plan to combat it throughout the world. A second glance at the clock did surprise Oliver, showing him that he had slept through America's, Germany's and China's speeches as well- almost three hours' worth.
At the very least, Oliver mused, there will be a lunch break soon. As soon as it was called most nations leaped out of their seats, eager to eat, happy the day was almost over. England remained sitting, still processing that not only had he slept through most of the meeting (which his boss wouldn't be happy about) but nobody had noticed…. Except Francois…
At that Oliver couldn't help but shudder- how dreadfully it could have turned out!
The other nations would take any signs of disrespect very personally, Oliver knew how bad that could be- he had seen what happened to America when he wolf whistled Belgium... it had taken weeks to get the bloodstains out of the carpet.
Germany gave him an odd look as he left, seeming to question why he was remaining in his seat as everyone filed out of the room. Oliver didn't notice, too dazed to give much care.
At three o'clock the Grandfather clock chimed, alerting everyone it would soon be time to resume the meeting, the clanging was low and comforting, a familiar presence to all the nations.
At three o'clock, Oliver found himself gasping and clutching at his chest as fiery pain engulfed his heart. Oliver toppled backwards, grappling onto the chair to prevent himself from falling, face screwed up in pain. "Aaah- ow! Oh dear!" he yelped, breathing heavy and pained. He closed his eyes, waiting, praying for it to stop.
It ended with a ringing in his ears, and a dull ache in his limbs, the pain slowly extending through his body and dissipating. Tears sprung up in his eyes, who could he tell about this, who would listen to him? Francois would laugh in his face and call him pathetic, none of his old colonies would comfort him, would prefer to leave him to suffer.
It wasn't often that Oliver found himself feeling lonely- it only ever happened when life reminded him just how alone he was.
At the same moment, deep inside, Oliver felt something give, he felt something changing.
Hey, this is only a one-shot at the moment, it's been sitting in my folder a while now and I decided to load it up. If you like this please let me know, and if you have any ideas, any, please let me know.