This was originally a story I wrote for my creative writing class, and I decided to post it. It was translated and the characters were changed to fit with the fandom, so there might be times when it doesn't make sense. There were three possible main characters: Lithuania, Romano and Canada. Romano wouldn't have been angsty enough, and I think I picked on Canada enough times. So, Lithuania it is.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Night Class
"Let me out!" Toris shouted, banging on the door. "Someone, help me!"
He kept banging on the door, but nothing came of it. He was locked in one of the school's bathrooms. His phone's battery was dead, and there was no way for him to tell where he was.
Through the small windows high on the wall he could see how the light grew darker. He had already spent a few hours in the bathroom. He was tired and hungry.
He sat with his back against the door, and every now and again he would roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Cuts, old and new, formed a pattern that told a story. A story of a boy in pain.
When it was completely dark, he heard something that he didn't think he would hear until the next morning.
The door was unlocked.
He jumped up and waited for someone to open the door. After a few moments with nothing happening, he cautiously opened the door himself.
There was no one in sight. Everything was dark, and he felt a chill race down his spine. It didn't help that everything was so quiet. A school was supposed to be bright and filled with the sound of the students' conversations and laughter. It shouldn't be dark and quiet.
As he walked away from the bathroom, his mind started filling the blanks, attempting to save him from the silence. He heard the echoes of people talking. He heard how they started talking about the latest thing that happened to him. And they laughed at his misfortune. They laughed at the nicknames they gave him. They laughed about how much of a failure he was.
And he wished for the previous silence.
It was not by accident that he was locked in the bathroom.
He could already hear how they would mock him.
"Did you sleep well in the stench?"
"What did you eat?"
"Gross, he spent his night in a bathroom!"
"But it's nothing strange."
He could feel how the tears started to sting, and he tried to silence the echoes, but it was as though they were getting louder. All that he could hear was the cruel laughter that always haunted him.
Without a thought, he opened one of the classrooms, and in spite of the late hour, it wasn't empty.
Twenty five pairs of eyes stared at him, and he could feel his face flush in embarrassment.
"Are you alright lad?" the teacher asked.
"Yes sir," Toris said. "I think I got lost. But I didn't know the school offered night classes."
"Yes, well, it's complicated. But yes. Would you like to join us? This is History, so I understand if you don't want to."
He actually liked history, but his school didn't offer it as a subject. Not enough interest.
"If you don't mind," Toris said.
The teacher smiled and gestured to an empty seat at the back, but not all the way in the back of the class. The seat was next to a boy who he first thought was a girl because of the way he dressed. He didn't have a textbook, so he had to share with the boy, Feliks. He was extremely friendly towards him, something that Toris didn't experience often at school.
He learned that the teacher's name was Arthur Kirkland, and he decided that he liked this teacher. He had not once compared him to his brilliant older sister. His usual teachers were always saying that his sister was the best student that they ever had, and that it was a shame that he was not as smart or as talented as her. It's not his fault that he was a different person.
…
He accompanied Feliks to his next class, Art, another subject that he wanted to take, but the school did not offer it. The other students were also friendly towards him, and the teacher was also kind towards him.
The teacher, Elizaveta Hedervary, allowed them to do what they wanted, and the other students approached him.
"How are you here?" a French boy named Francis asked. He asked it in a friendly manner, nothing at all like Toris's usual classmates.
"I was locked in one of the bathrooms," Toris said.
"Did the janitor lock you in?" a younger-looking girl, Lili, asked.
"Not the janitor."
There was silence as they absorbed the information.
"Like, that won't happen here," Feliks said. "No one bullies each other here. Like, none of us are termites."
"What do you mean?" Toris asked.
"Like, people think they're so great. So special. Like, 'everyone is a shining star'. But in reality, they're nothing more than ants. Totally tiny and part of a whole. No individuality. And like, then they pretend that they're bigger than they actually are by making someone else feel small. They act as though they're termites, but they totally stay small. And they're worth nothing. Like, they're poison for everyone else. And there's always someone that dies from that poison."
"What they don't realise is that their actions hurt someone else," a Canadian boy named Matthew said. "When someone commits suicide, the first thought is always: 'Poor guy. He couldn't handle it.' But they don't care about the reason. And there is usually someone behind that reason. Someone that is responsible, and doesn't care that he's responsible. A murderer that always gets away with it."
Toris is surprised by what they said, and was also surprised by their sympathy. No, empathy. That is what he saw in their eyes. It was something that not even his parents would give him.
But he couldn't help but wonder if they knew the pain well. Why else would they say something like that?
…
It was almost midnight, but Toris didn't care. He had gotten something to eat from the cafeteria, and it was way better than what the cafeteria usually offered. It was even better than his mother's food.
He was going somewhere with Feliks. The Pol wanted to show him something.
They stopped in front of a door, and Toris arched an eyebrow in confusion. It was always locked.
He turned towards Feliks, but he was gone. He turned back to the door and felt another chill race down his spine, but he ignored it and opened the door.
The room was extremely dark. Like a cave deep underground. No, a tunnel after you entered another tunnel after you entered a cave that led underground on a moonless night.
He fidgeted along the wall, searching for the light switch. When he finally found it, he gaped at the scene revealed by the light in astonishment.
Photographs. Everywhere there were photos – in frames, with newspaper clippings. Each one was accompanied by a label.
He walked closer and read the first label: Matthew Williams. Suicide. 1980.
He looked towards another: Lili Zwingli. Murdered. 1998.
He stared at the other photos. Students and teachers, all of them dead. Each in the last fifty years since the school's founding.
There were three words that he saw often: murdered, accident, suicide. And the worst part was that he recognised each of them. He spoke to them throughout the entire night. And they were friendly…
He finally saw the photo that he dreaded the most.
Feliks Łukasiewicz. Suicide. 1964.
…
He was sitting on the roof of the school. He had found the door there, even though he was looking for the exit. It was a large school, and it was very different at night. Or perhaps the ghosts led him there.
The ghosts. That was what they were. At night, it was time for the ghosts' class time. Then, it was their school. And they treated him like a friend. They didn't cast him aside because he was alive and they weren't.
He didn't see anyone else after seeing the photos. He heard no one. Just darkness and silence.
He saw as the sky was gradually painted brighter, and he smiled, but it was bitter. Soon, his class time would begin. And he would once again be among the termites.
But that's not what he wanted. He wanted to return to the classes where everyone treated him like a human, and not like an insect upon which they could step. He wanted to have classes with teachers that didn't know his sister. He wanted to take the subjects that he wanted to. He also wanted the food that was far better than the food he usually got.
In fact, he had often begged his parents to transfer him to another school, but it was the only high school in town, and his parents didn't want to move to another town just because he was having problems with the other students.
But he found another school. In the same town. In the same building.
There was only one problem, but he knew how to solve it.
So, mere minutes before the bell would ring, he stepped closer to the edge of the roof, until he was on the very edge.
And he took one more step…