Sympathetic and empathetic Matthew Williams. Cynical and sardonic Matthew Williams. Beautiful and hypnotizing Matthew Williams. Why was it that these thoughts were so imbedded into my mind? It's so wrong, that I liked him. I would pretend as if nothing is wrong when I'm around him, just smile and laugh my usual laugh, then go back to spewing ridiculous ideas randomly while I kept on thinking about him and how much I want him. It's really sickening.

And yet, I can't get myself to let him go. I tried so desperately to ignore him, I even tried pretending like I didn't know him, but when he gave that hurt expression, I feel so guilty I just want to hug him so close and tell him I'm sorry. But you know what, I'm cursed with a certain thing called pride. And my pride doesn't let me do that. So I just simply laugh and say "Oh yeah! I remember you now!"

To say the least, I feel like a monster. Because not only did I succumb to the treatment he gets from everyone else, but I also failed to comfort him and make him see that he's loved. And truthfully, I may say in the middle at random times that I'm a hero, but I know for a fact that its a lie. That I'm no hero and I'm just a wicked villain, playing some stupid illusion in their head as if they could possibly dream of being something they can never be. Like a Kiwi. Those flightless birds. They can't fly, and yet they look up into the sky and jump a little, as if they could soar up with imaginary wings if they try hard enough.

And you know what? Do you want to know what my antics got me into? What my stupid, unbrotherly actions did to my beautiful Mattie? Dead. Gone for good. The nation of Canada is now in a church, with people who don't even remember him around, not even bothering to show any look of mourn. Not even France, and that surprised me by far. And what hurt the most is that I never came to confess my wrong and sickening love to him, and that I never even gave any simple gestures to show that I even cared for him. Tears stream down my face, and I notice one thing that makes me want to cry even harder. Everyone is looking at me. Not at the body, not at the man telling them of their loss, but at me. And at that moment, I realize how much I hate attention. It's a poison that can only give others and yourself grief.

Tears streamed down my face even faster, yet my mouth made no move for a sob or choke. They just flowed down like rivers, and I knew that my dam broke down. Everything just flowed out and I tuned out the priest, just staring at my brother's body. How could someone dead look so beautiful? Is it wrong to say that? His face showed no sign of pain or discomfort, just bliss. His skin was pale, like usual, but now the reason was not because of the lack of sunlight. This time it was because of not only the lack of blood, but the lack of a heartbeat. My own heart felt like it slowed down, and my body quivered in guilt. Arthur, the one Matthew actually called dad, was looking at me strangely, and I just wanted to scream at him. I wanted to yell and tell him to look at his own dead son, to remember all the times Matthew risked his life for him. He basically put himself in a suicide act during the Revolution, and yet Arthur still didn't acknowledge him.

At this point, I felt sick. I felt as if there was a hollow spot in my body, and my senses seemed to be on overload as I overheard the small chats that the people around me were whispering to one another. I wanted to glare at them and tell them to shut up, but I knew that would disrupt the priest, so I kept quiet. I took a quick glance at France, and noticed he was actually flirting. Flirting at my brother's fucking funeral. Matthew used to call him Papa, so he should be listening! He should at least give a glance to his deceased son. He was the one who found him! He took in Canada as a colony, the first time Canada ever became a Colony. And yet, France gave him away to England and is now flirting with men and woman at his funeral. In the middle of his funeral.

I looked down, Matthew's pet bear curled up at my feet. He seemed to be staring at Matthew's body in horror, and I wouldn't blame him. Matthew and Kumajirou have been together since the beginning. Before Matthew was taken in by France, Matthew was being raised by bears. I was with the Indians, and I frequently came over to talk to Matthew, both of us teaching each other our language. Kumajirou was with Canada even then.

More tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt Kumajirou back up into my legs, he himself shivering from his own tears. He used to play a game with Matthew, they both would purposely mistake each others names and correct one another. I never understood it, but I remember Matthew telling me that it was because they wouldn't forget who they are, and be loud enough to tell others who they are. It seems to make perfect sense to me now. I can now say that I understand what he means.

I picked up Kumajirou, hugging him for some comfort. I ignored the questioning glances, I didn't like them.

Once the priest was done, and the funeral was over, everyone walked out, being cheerful and happy. Some of them were asking who Matthew was, and each time I heard that, I had the sudden urge to break their neck. I didn't, because I knew I was just as guilty as they were. Except for the fact that I only didn't it because of pride and that it was all an act, but I still pretended to forget him.

Arthur placed a hand on my shoulder, bushy eyebrow raised in question. "Son, why are you crying?"

I didn't answer with my voice, but with a glare. With that done, I exited the room, Kumajirou in my arms. I needed to breathe in air. No, I wasn't breathing air before. I was breathing in heavy, down heartening misery.

And even then, I never said I loved him.

Hopefully, in another life, I will. Because I'm positive if we meet again in another life, I'll fall for him again. Only this time, I'll tell him.

But I assure you, in this life, I'll never be the same.

Dedicated to Chesire Cat 197. Love ya! Did I make you cry? If so...

*Puts on super cool ninja spy pirate sunglasses* Mission accomplished.