# Dreams of A Vague Reality 01 #
The horror genre is my favourite. :D And after reading the first two chapters of House of Flies by crackberries I couldn't help myself and I had to get this idea on paper/webpage. I know I'm not up to her standard...but...I tried. Crackberries, you are my favourite fanfiction author and a terrible influence.
You're awesome! XD I love you!
Fangirling aside, Prussia's character song for this was 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence.
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Blood.
Too much blood.
Leaking out the polished floorboards, splattering up the walls in messy splashes, even on the high ceiling there were streaks of it. The dark red liquid stained, stained everything in its' path, leaving destruction and fear in its' wake. There was nothing but the blood, enveloping everything in its' tight grasp. It was a dreadful kind of beauty, something purely destructive, but somehow eye-catching nonetheless. It drew out the memory of those screams, long since died out, but somehow echoing in the mind as one regarded the blood. It was strange, how the blood seemed to envelop everything in its grasp, like a hungry behemoth.
Well, everything but the young man standing in the blood, feeling a few drops drip down his angular face as he stood, casting his unreadable gaze over the mutilated bodies in front of him. The white of his hair was almost invisible in the bloody candlelight, even though in more...normal (for lack of a better word) circumstances it would stand out quite brightly in a crowd, or anywhere really.
At a short, disinterested glance from some random passersby, he looked passive, normal somehow even with his shock of messy hair and pale skin. Even the clothes weren't really that bad, a little punk-looking with the knee-high black boots and faded jeans, with a logo of some obscure band on the shirt that no one really knew anymore because everyone listened to that pop bullshit (don't even try to deny it's bullshit). He looked like your everyday young adult punk, someone who probably didn't have a job but wasn't bitter about it, instead choosing to live it up. He seemed like quite the party animal, as one expected someone of his looks to be like. This was, however, completely stereotypical.
But then you'd see it.
That smirk.
And somehow it'd make your stomach drop down to your pants and you'd realise you've shit yourself, because that smirk was terrifying, to be blatantly honest. There was something so violently wrong with it, so frighteningly insane. There was no other word for it, seeing that man standing in the torn innards of what may have once been real, living people, his boots annihilating the scraps of what looked like innards. And he wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. In fact, he enjoyed it. He lived for these moments of high elation when he saw the last slice of light disappear from someone's eyes.
It was a world where there was nothing but darkness and violence.
It was his world.
Only his.
And it was awesome.
The man let out a snickering laugh, the sound more of a hiss, letting it bubble out, the sound getting louder as he tossed the two bloodied revolvers into the puddle of shattered bone and unimaginable gore. The room he stood in, strangely enough, had a huge storage of weapons littered everywhere, from a simple sword to the more barbaric garden shears. One of the guns the man had been holding skidded, staining the dark boards further as it neared the ajar door. His once normal, now crazed eyes, as red as the blood, fixed onto the figure in the doorway as they stepped closer. They couldn't do that without paying the price for invading his space. This was his area, his kingdom where he was god and no one could stop his divine judgement. He'd kill them too, shatter them into a million pieces until they were as warped as he was-
"Gilbert! Vee~ I have the mail for you!"
The bubbly brunette who had spoken to him pranced over, his eyes closed in a blissful expression. Gilbert groaned from where he was standing in the brightly lit kitchen, slamming his forehead down on the sparklingly clean wooden bench. Feliciano didn't heed the unspoken plea for help, as he sat the small pile of papers down next to Gilbert's aching head. "I'll do dinner, Gilly, and you read the mail," he ordered, which wasn't that surprising because Gilbert was terrible at cooking anything and everything, and the Italian was a master.
The master of pasta.
Heheh.
Gilbert grabbed the mail on the way out of the kitchen, whistling the Final Fantasy theme as he flicked through the mail, picking out the advertisements and leaving the actual mail on the dining table. He made his way down to the basement, where he lived (astonishingly). Maybe he could catch a nap while dinner was being cooked.
"Bruder, bist du da...?"
Gilbert blinked up at Ludwig as the younger German waved a hand in front of his face, the younger trying not to look concerned. The Prussian (self-titled, but Germans weren't that awesome anyway) leaned back into the moth-eaten beige couch he was lounging on, regarding the blonde with faintly interested dark red eyes. He'd been thinking about something (something important? Or was it a dream that was bothering him?) but then Ludwig had snapped him out of it. Obviously it hadn't been that important, then, if he'd forgotten it like that. Somehow it unsettled him, though, as though there was something bad, something that wasn't supposed to be forgotten. Gilbert's old, beaten-up radio was playing in the background, some kind of goth song, maybe Evanescence. He hummed along to the chorus as it played, tilting his head to the side. Then he realised his brother was still waiting for some kind of sign of recognition and sighed a little, a familiar grin on his face.
"What is it, West?"
"You've been staring into space for a while. I was beginning to worry."
"Kesese, you're going soft!"
He poked his brother in the stomach teasingly, grinning up at the stern-looking face until he saw Ludwig relax a little. Good, good. He didn't want the man worrying as well when he already did all the work and paid the bills as well while his deadbeat brother lurked in the basement. It killed Gilbert a little, being so useless all the time. He was the older one, shouldn't he be looking after Ludwig? But he was going for a job interview today, so maybe it was over. Who knew? This place he'd applied for didn't seem like it needed any qualifications, so maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to get it. It had mentioned multiple positions so there was no worry about someone stealing it from him. And the interview was late-ish at night. Nine thirty was a pretty sweet time to work.
Speaking of...
"Hey West, what time is it?"
Ludwig turned, his worry apparently gone now he had confirmed Gilbert was still alive. Why he had worried in the first place was beyond Gilbert; he was far too awesome to just die while thinking or something stupid like that. The Prussian glanced at the blank widescreen TV, wondering if he had time to watch King of The Nerds before he had to go. The interview was quite late, after all. He looked back over at his brother as the blonde picked up a stray sock and tossed it at the washing basket as he strode away purposefully, finally answering the question he'd been asked.
"Ten o'clock, oh, and I fed your vogelchen at lunchtime, so don't worry."
Oh, good. Gilbird was fed; he felt slightly relieved. His sleeping out his hangovers mostly didn't work out that well for his little canary friend, who would usually have to suffer out the starvation until he deigned to rise from the dream world once again.
Ten...?
"In the morning?"
"Nein. You slept the entire day."
"Scheiße-"
"Mr. Beilschmidt, it's okay! Only two other applicants are here, and we wanted four spots. There is no need for that language, I promise. You are a valued applicant, and we would not dream of writing you off already simply because you are half an hour late."
Gilbert felt a shot of relief spread through his veins as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. He'd run the entire way, not even sure if he was going the right way. Thankfully, the name of the company was on the front of the building, even if it was down a creepy-ass alleyway and all. He let out a huff and stood up straight again, feeling a grin creep across his face. Thank goodness, he had been about to get on his knees and cry about the unawesomeness of the situation. Maybe he'd actually get lucky for once.
Heh.
Get lucky.
"Ja! So, what now?"
"Well, you filled out the form we sent you online, so technically you're already hired. Congratulations, Mr. Beilschmidt."
"Woo!"
He waved his hands in a strange interpretation of a dance of success, making the secretary giggle a little, as she stood from behind her desk and brushed her clothes off. A small smile remained on her face as she tilted her head back at him, one manicured hand on a doorknob to a door without a label. He stopped dancing and hung up his snow-covered coat on a nearby rack, turning back to her and stepping up to the door, wondering what the other two would be like. Also, didn't she say there were four spots? Was the fourth person late too?
The woman glanced back at him, her smile making him nervous for some reason. He shifted slightly under her gaze, looking down at his scuffed black boots. He hoped this was as good a deal as it had sounded when the advertisement had landed in the mailbox. Speaking of, if it was such a good deal why had only the exact number of people they wanted applied? Something here didn't feel quite right.
"Shall we, Mr. Beilschmidt...?"
"Was? Oh, of course. Ja."
And the door was opened. It wasn't until later Gilbert realised he should've left it shut, should've run with all his might, because there are some demons that should never be uncovered. And those demons rather liked watching your pain, in fact they loved it with a stained loyalty. And they began watching the young Prussian man at that moment, mulling over what might happen next.
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Translations-
Bruder, bist du da?- brother, are you there? (German)
Vogelchen- birdie/bird (German)
Nein- no (German)
Scheiße- shit (German)
Ja- yes (German)
Was- what (German)
Names;
Gilbert Beilschmidt- Prussia
Feliciano Vargas- N. Italy
Ludwig Beilschmidt- Germany