The Story of...
Peter Kirkland
[A/N: This was originally posted on Tumblr on June 16th 2014, and forgot to post it here, so here it is. In addition, this story is that it's from my ask-blog on Tumblr, ask-voodootalia, and you can check it out if you would like to have a firmer grasp on what Peter is in my VooDootalia AU, and another reason was that it was an ask from a follower of my ask-blog account.
Angel-Of-Darkness-217 asked: "What happened to Peter to have him made a doll? Did he die or get sick or something?"
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Poem is mine.]
I'm sorry, Little Brother,
I guess you're mad at me.
All by yourself I left you,
I deserve no sympathy.
Five years ago, I had a little brother named Peter. He had honey blonde hair, these blue-green eyes that I could only describe as an ocean sea-foam color, the cutest smile a little boy could possess, and wore a darling sailor suit (due to family traditions). The boy was a high-spirited little bugger who sought for fun and adventure, his hyper personality never failed to rid me of my own energy — or rather my temper. We often bicker and fight, nothing too serious as it was simply sibling rivalry. However, once in a blue moon, I would fear that he thought I hated him; I loved my brother very much, even if we didn't see eye-to-eye on most occasions, and I'm sure he loved me too.
"Arthur! I just realized that this year should be my lucky year! I'm seven years old and seven is a lucky number!"
"Is that so? Then your thirteenth must be the worst."
Peter loved to make friends, he loved animals, he loved drawing, stories, sports, holidays, pranks — he loved so many things... and I took that away from him… Peter had this particular bouncy ball he loved to play with ( it was his most favorite toy), Mum gave it to him when he was a tiny tot and he had it ever since. To this day, I hate that blasted ball. I'm not the only one at fault, that ball took part of his incident as well… If- If Peter hadn't love that ball so much he wouldn't have gone after it!… Yet… I'm still at fault. I left Peter alone after all.
And to this day, I still regret,
That one mistake I made.
In the grave, you are upset,
Whose life I've yet to paid.
Five years ago, I took my little brother Peter, who was seven years old, to the park. To a quaint ol' park with plenty of space, evergreen trees, shrubs, a playground set and a natural fishing pond. My brother Peter was so excited to go that he even brought his favorite ball with him. I told him that if he were to lose it — that it was his own fault and not to cry if that happened. We followed the swerving sidewalk path to our normal destination, a little bench under a fairly large Willow tree. Peter played with his ball as we walked, dribbling it, kicking it between his feet, throwing it up high to catch it. At one point it fell and smacked me right on the face, Peter then stopped throwing it and continued to dribble it.
"O-h… sorry Artie… I was so sure that'd I'd catch it."
"Mm-hmm."
As we stepped close to our stop, Peter saw the ice cream man's booth and asked if he could have some. That day was a tad bit warm, so I complied and told him to wait at our usual stop since I could see him from the man's booth (I knew what he wanted, strawberry, a flavor we both appreciate). There was a short line yet it took forever to simply get the ice cream, there was this little girl who wanted a flavor the man didn't offer and she was making such a fuss about it. Every now and then I would look back to see if Peter was still waiting and he would be there playing with his ball, having fun... But... when I looked back another time — he wasn't.
I'm sorry, Little Brother,
To this day I always grieve.
Had I never left you now,
Your life would never leave.
Five years ago, I had a little brother named Peter. He and I were eleven years apart, he was seven and I was eighteen. Due to this large age difference, we could never see eye-to-eye; just because I could watch myself, didn't mean he could do the same. I wasn't suited to watching children, and incompetent to even watch my own brother. That day, I made the decision to leave Peter at our spot because what could possibly go wrong in a few minutes?
"Peter? PETER! Stop playing games! Come out now!"
"PETER!"
I ditched the stand as soon as I saw that he wasn't there. Time appeared to go slow whilst going fast as every second passed. My heart felt like it had become heavy when every pump of still blood and my sight seemed to look at all corners of the place, and my body moved in such a frantic and inconsistent path. I had no idea where to look or who to ask or how to explain and I was so scared. I asked by-passers and ran around the park like some crazed maniac… and then I saw it.
I'm sure you really hate me,
For leaving you all alone.
Forcing you to only see,
The gates blocking our home.
Five years ago, I took my little brother Peter, who was eleven years younger than me, to the park. On that day, Peter took his favorite ball to the park, he loved that ball to death, and unfortunately he did prove that fact. On that particularly warm day, Peter asked for some ice cream and I saw no harm in buying some, so I told him to wait in our spot as I would go and get them. On that damned day, an irresponsible eighteen year old was allowed to watch a seven year old because they were brothers who did not always see eye-to-eye. On that dreadful fucking day, a little boy by the name Peter James Kirkland, who was seven years old, died in the park because his older brother left him alone.
'Please don't let this be real! Please let it not be Peter. Please, not him!'
"Oh God! No! Peter! This can't be happening! God No!"
Five fucking years ago, this little boy drowned in the park's natural pond that was 12 feet deep, full of long seaweed and plants that a little boy can easily get caught in because no one is watching him when he needed them. Five years ago, this little boy's stupid bouncy ball fell in the pond and he tried to get it back only to fall in the deep mucky pond to his devastating death because he doesn't know how to swim well because his eighteen year old brother doesn't know either. Five years ago, no one bothered to try to save this little boy from drowning because they thought the next person would do it or call for help. It wasn't until this park's resident homeless man dove into the water and tried to help the poor boy, but the little boy wasn't breathing and the man didn't know CPR.
I'm sorry, Little Brother,
I wish I could take your place.
For that memory gone from me,
And bring back your pleasant face.
Five fucking years ago, I lead my little brother Peter, who will only be seven, to his own death. Peter's memory will always be the fun and adventurous spirit that he is and he will always being the loving boy that I knew and loved. Peter will always my little brother, but he would always be seven years old, and nothing more. He must hate me, I was the one who took him to the park. I let him bring his favorite bouncy ball to the park, to which I told him that if he loses it, that it was his own fault and not to cry about it. I left my little brother by himself because I was stupid and did not think once, the consequences that would come in leaving a child by themselves— especially not death.
"I'm so sorry, Peter. God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. G-God Peter, I'm so sorry."
"Just blame me okay? This wasn't your fault, it was mine. If there's anyone to blame, it's me, Petey."
"I love you, Peter… I hope you knew that… I love you…"
Five fucking years ago, I was a stupid eighteen year old who only looked out for himself and didn't consider the hard realities of life that even children die when adults don't do their fucking part. I didn't regard the fact that even if I can take care of myself, that Peter can't. I was eighteen! I can't do everything but I couldn't even watch a simple child? Why did I even think leaving him alone was a brilliant fucking idea? When did I just bring him along? Why was I such a complete idiot and stupid and irresponsible? Why did that fucking day have to happen? Why did Peter have to bring that stupid ball? Why did no one help him until it was too late? Fucking why?
I'm sorry, Little Brother,
You always meant to me.
And now that you are gone,
I have one less of family.
Five years ago, I was the reason why my little brother is dead. I was the one who was labeled a selfish, irresponsible teenager who deliberately let his own brother die because the eighteen year old "couldn't swim" ("like that's even true", "what eighteen year old can't swim?"). I was the reason why my little brother's death was broadcasted on every fucking news channel because he was the prime example of why children should learn to fucking swim. I was the reason why I had to explain to my own family, in the hospital, at the morgue, that Peter was dead because I wasn't watching him; I wasn't there to help him and I practically sentenced him to his fucking death. I had death written on me everywhere I went ("didn't his brother die due to his own recklessness", "what idiot leaves a child alone?") and I was the fucking reminder to why my brother was dead. Everything is my fucking fault. I killed him. I let him die. I left him alone.
"You hate me, don't you?"
"I won't care if you kill me in my sleep."
"I deserve it, don't I?"
"…I killed you…"
Five years ago, my little brother died because I was stupid. Five years ago, Peter James Kirkland drowned in the pond because his stupid big brother was not watching him. Five years ago on that day, I couldn't bare to see to my family again. Five years ago on that day, the only person who looked up to me is dead. Five years ago on that day, I was no longer a big brother. Five years ago on that day, I wished I could take it all back. Five years ago on that day, I wished it never happened.
.
.
.
"Hello there, my name is Arthur Kirkland, and you are Peter. I'm sure you must be scared and confused about what's going on but trust me that it's alright. We'll be okay… Okay?"
"…O-Okay!"
[A/N: Again, reminder, this was originally uploaded on tumblr for my ask-blog and I hope you guys enjoyed the story as much as I did writing it~]