Okay so this is a 200 theme challenge that I took up on my RP account on deviantart, kirklandplz.
It's 200 themes that I'm going to be filling with drabbles in between fills of Comrade (which, is posted on my main dA account Crimson-Moonshine, not the RP one). Mainly I started this because I don't have much time during the week, being a full time college kid with a part time job, and so this is just for little bits of inspiration so that I can type bits and pieces to Comrade when I can. At the moment, the next chapter isn't NEAR done, so I'm sorry to those of you that follow that story.
ER-HERM. As for this, most of the drabbles have absolutely nothing to do with a pairing. Those that do, however, will be USUK because on my RP account that's the pairing my RP friend and I... well, RP (even though my OTP is actually FrUK). Before each drabble, I'll post info about it and whatnot... Hope you enjoy.
Theme: Introduction
Character/Pairings: Arthur Kirkland AKA England
Length: 768 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: Extremely depressing.
In this world, where nothing else is true, I know at least I have the rain. It's the first thought that crosses my mind in the morning and the last thought to leave me before my brain drifts off into the wasteland my dreams reside in. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever get my head up off the ground and start looking up at the sky again. How long has it been? It seems to me as if nothing can be reality in a world that contradicts itself. I've realized how ridiculously wrapped up in my own quirky ways I have become, and it seems as if there's no way out of this barbed wire maze I've created for myself. Sometimes, I wonder what the colour of my eyes are, but I dare not look into the mirror, for fear of the disappointment reflecting in them.
Sometimes I just get the urge to burn down all that I have built for myself, everything I have ever accomplished, just to see the gleam of the fire. Sometimes I wonder if the ribbing by my colleagues is of a jeering matter, or if I really am truly mad. I think I feel disconnected from reality all of the time, and I can only seem to find my masks anymore. One must wonder where the poor, pathetic man that resides in this shell lives. Maybe the vultures living in the lie have finally picked him off.
Sometimes, it feels as if no one could ever get into my head without suffering through some severe trauma. While I do not have a smile on my face all the time, the upright and stony face I wear daily is a mask, and when it may not appear to be so, I am severely unhappy. Mostly, I am unhappy with myself, as I have failed every single thing I have set up to do. It also stands up to perfect logic and region that, by myself failing in such a manner, I am consistently useless.
And so I just sit here, drinking my earl grey with a biscuit sitting untouched beside the saucer. Music does nothing to console me, as my heart has been heavy for years. It seems I have forgotten the formula to being content. Maybe I've fine-tuned my perspective to only rest on the empty glass, the last few drops of water glistening dully with these dying hopes of mine. I get chills as I write this, terrified someone may be reading over my shoulder and realize I am not simply taking notes on what my colleagues are saying.
Maybe it's good to let this all out of my chest, because I feel choked up and destroyed with the weight cracking my ribs. Maybe I simply need to ignore the things that plague me, and not let things hit me so hard. It hurts to know you're repulsive, however, and yet I completely understand the sneers sent my way. I wouldn't like me either, I suppose.
It makes one wonder why I still stumble through this world, knowing I have failed beyond repair and knowing I will never be the proud, brave man I had once been. People become annoyed with me when I reminisce, but honestly it is the only thing I feel I have left. After all, if everyone you had ever cared for had left you, wouldn't you feel much the same?
Sometimes my throat feels dry and my eyes feel wet, and it begins to rain. I just smile through the downpour, hugging my arms and blinking away water I swear is streaming from my hair and not my eyes. I suppose if someone cared enough for me, it would be worrisome, but the evidence that I even do such an ungentlemanly thing hardly exists. The only reason someone would know is if they cared enough to watch me slip through the crack of the door, into the sticky and wet air.
Sometimes, I just wish I had someone to reach out to me and tell me what it is that can make me forget. Just help me stop self-medicating with scotch and tea and just smile, a genuine smile for once in my life. I want someone to reach out and take my hand as I whisper, "Who am I?"
And I want a simple reply. I want someone to tell me who I am, and accept me as such. I, am Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland, and I am possibly the only one to find solace in the rain.