Nothing could stop the tears from falling. Slowly at first, just a small glisten in my eye before gravity takes it, but eventually, I can barely see the scene in front of me that was causing me to become distraught.

There was blood. Yes, blood everywhere. It was splattered on the pale coloured wall in front of me, like a little kid had gone out of control with some blood red paint. Some of it pooled on a blanket on the floor which had already absorbed as much of the crimson liquid as it could. I was even standing in a shallow puddle, my leather boots now spotted with drops of blood as it feel from the mattress. I tried to avoid looking at the cold pistol lying at my feet.

Then there was the man sprawled out on the floor next to me. The black phone was hanging by the cord off the night stand like it had been knocked off in a hurry. Dried blood caked his blonde hair. His glasses, broken, sat a few feet away from their owner. Blood was leaking from his breathless lips and the hole in his left temple.

"Oh God, Alfred! No! No, no, no! Oh God, why!" Falling to my knees I let out a sob and struggled to hold back more when I put two and two together. This man had shot himself. My son had tried to kill himself and then tried calling for help. Did he change his mind in the end? No matter. It was already too late. He'd already lost too much blood by then.

My eyes suddenly landed on a torn piece of paper in the dead American's front pocket on his stained sweatshirt. My curiosity soon took over and I gingerly slid the parchment out. Hands trembling, I struggled to read the sloppy hand writing through my tears.

Dear whoever is reading this,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry wasting space. I never should have been born if all I do is take up room at the Axis/Allies meetings. No one listens to me there anyway. You don't even notice me actually. I guess I could blame you by saying things like 'you didn't care about me and didn't want to remember' or 'You couldn't even be bothered to remember my birthday'.

I could point out how many times I asked for help, and all those times you turned away to preoccupied with whatever it was that you felt was more important than me. Did you see right through me? Do I even exist?

I never told anyone but every morning I would stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for hours telling myself someone would say hello to me. Return my smile. Maybe even ask me about my day. And when that never happened I would come home later and bash my head on the wall and then cry myself to sleep. I know, it sound stupid but for some reason it felt good. I was punishing myself.

I just want you all to know I don't blame you. I don't blame you for always mistaking me for Alfred or even a ghost of all things. I guess now the last one will be somewhat true. I'm not the type of person to put the blame on someone else; how could I? I am the one who pulled the trigger. Or as I'm writing this, I'm the one who will pull the trigger.

I understand that the only way to get noticed would to be more like Alfred. Even though we are twins we couldn't have been more different. He was loud and exciting. Everyone would go to his house, invite him over; they'd even start conversations with him. But I on the other hand am another story. The only person to ever come visit me is my brother, the few times he remembers. The only time anyone ever talks to me is when they think I'm Alfred. I haven't even had a birthday present since I lived with Francis. I've always lived in my brother's shadow. There's no way I could live up to him.

I'm sorry being who I am. So quiet and reserved. Maybe I'm to annoying and that's why nobody talks to me? I'm sorry for being such a disappointment Dad. You tried your best to raise me and I just messed everything up. Merci. And Arthur? I don't blame you for not loving me like you loved Alfred. I know he was your favorite.

I've probably lost your interest now, like what usually happens when I start to speak. Méprise! I'm probably wasting my time writing this! I doubt any of you feel compelled to read it. You'll probably even bury me under Alfred's name too. Here lies Alfred F. Jones. Then he'll probably freak out and think he's a ghost. Ha, that's kind of funny.

Well I guess this is goodbye then.

~ Mathew

'No. No, it's not Alfred,' I sighed with relief. And then scowled at myself with disgust, 'No it's not Alfred… but he was still your son you bloody prat! Why are you so happy just because it's your other son! Honestly… what kind of parent are you?"

"M-Matthew…" I choked softly, grabbing his empty body in my arms, "Oh Mattie you… you git. Git! Y-you… …oh Mattie…" I broke into heart wrenching sobs, unable to finish my sentence a third time. Instead I hugged him tighter and cried in to his blond hair. I scowled angrily at the smell of it. The familiar smell of maple was comforting but the bloody scent mixed in ruined everything. It brought me back to real life. I hugged him tighter, as if I could put everything back where it belonged.

"I should have paid more attention to him. Maybe if I just sent him a simple card for his birthday even… wait, when is his birthday! Did it already pass! Oh God, I don't even know!" There had been plenty of occasions where I could have cancelled plans with Alfred to arrange something with him, or even just flat invited him along.

"Oh Matthew… I-it wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. It was…I-it was all of us. We were blind... and deaf… and apparently to dumb to never remember you," I hugged him tighter still, certain I could hear ribs cracking at this point. I didn't care. It was as if that hug would somehow make up for all the years I'd looked through him, but I knew the situation was far past the point of forgiveness, "I'm sorry. I'm Sorry for all of us. And Matthew? I...I really did… I still so… I love you," I stutter between sobs, "You're my son, quiet, but still… you are my son and I love you."

I cried and cried and remained like that for hours before someone finally tore me away after coming to search when they realized I wasn't at the A/A meeting. No one even noticed that the Canadian personification was missing. And why would they? They never noticed when he was there either. It wasn't until they found me pointlessly embracing his dead body that he finally crossed their minds.

"I'm sorry," I whisper one last time before letting myself be lead out of the room.