I wrote this ages ago, I think I was bored when I was on holida becuase it was raining and there was nothing on tv. Anyway, it's just a cark thing...yea.
Enjoy, read and review.
Do you really think that I own Hetalia? *silence* Yea, I didn't think so.
It was there and then. That one night. That place. I had always hated staying in the city.
The door to the small, central-Tokyo flat clicked open, followed by a man in a suit walking through. His day had obviously been long and tiring; his tie was hung down, his shirt untucked, top buttons undone. His black hair was messed up and hung in front of his eyes, but, it didn't seem to bother him.
The man sighed as he sat onto the small cotton couch. He frowned.
I'd always hated being in my Tokyo flat. So westernized. It never felt like home.
He rubbed his temples in frustration as something started to bother him. One of the days events, possibly. His head suddenly shot up and he stared blankly at the wall.
This is where I come in.
"Why are you here?" the man asked, his face remaining expressionless, "why?"
The room stayed silent.
"WHY!" This time he stood up.
A ghostly, yet oddly human like figure appeared across the room. His features an exact replica of the man in the flat; the only differences were the complexion of the ghostly man and that he was all in black.
It begins.
The man waited for an answer, but, the figure didn't utter a word. He became angry.
"You're always there, following me," he said an angered undertone coming up, "so why don't you ever say something!"
You want me to speak? Fine.
"See the picture over there?" the ghost whispered, motioning his head towards a picture of him and China at a world meeting last year, "smash it." The entity smiled evilly at the others reaction.
"What could possibly make me do that?" he asked raising his voice slightly.
"Me," the figure answered.
I know how much you want to see him suffer. But being the country you are, you feel compelled to bottle it up. Sad, sad boy.
The man hesitated; every fibre of his being telling him to not touch the framed photo, but, it wasn't any help. Without a second thought, he picked up the frame and smashed it against the wall. Regardless of the pain of having the glass slice through his hand.
He gripped his bleeding hand with the other in a fickle attempt to ease the pain and flow of blood.
The pale entity rolled his eyes and sighed.
You could've just thrown it to the floor. Never mind. Your pain is my gain.
"I...I..." the man stuttered, "Why...Why did I...?"
"Well that was quick," the figure sighed, "I'd hoped you'd resist a bit more like the other times."
They were so much more fun.
He glared at the ghostly mirror of himself, "just leave."
The figure pouted, "but that'd be no fun," he looked around the room, "ok," he pointed to a scroll on top of a cupboard, "rip it up, but, open it to see what it is first."
Not that I don't know what it is already. I did always wonder why I'd kept something like that in my Tokyo flat. Maybe I couldn't handle the memories?
The man waited, waited, waited and waited. His feet glued to the spot he did nothing more than stare at the tall cupboard. Why was it soo tempting to rip it up? He knew full well what was on the scroll. He knew it was irreplaceable.
"Do it," the ghost sighed, "I may have all night, but, I'm not going to wait that long."
He suddenly found himself at the foot of the large wooden cupboard.
"N-no," he said as his arms reached for the precious item. Too late, he grasped it and pulled it open. His eyes widened. Thousands of memories flooded into his mind. His eyes filled with tears.
So the memories were too much. Figures, something so unimportant getting to me.
The man then gripped the edges of the paper.
"I can't...n-no...I-I."
Rip. Rip. Rip.
Tattered specks of paper fell to the floor. The fragments of memories being lost on the journey to the ground. It was done.
"I didn't think you'd actually do something like that," the entity said in disbelief.
The man clenched his fists and turned around. Within seconds he lunged at the figure, but he vanished and reappeared at the other end of the room. The man ran straight into a set of drawers which flew into the wall causing a large hole. Everything on top of the drawers destroyed in the process.
He didn't stop. He lunged at the ghost again, but, the process was repeated. This time the couch was knocked over, sending a coffee table into a glass case. Another crash and more glass covered the floor.
I really did hate how western this flat was.
The man kept running after the figure. Knocking pictures from walls. Throwing objects from shelves.
By the end of it the central-Tokyo flat lay in ruins and the forceful entity was nowhere to be seen.
His eyes darted around the room, but, he was alone. Nothing.
He still felt no relief. The uneasy feeling of not being alone clenching at his frail heart. Constricting around his frame every memory lost, the paranoia of being watched. He felt so closed in. So cramped. The atmosphere of the destroyed room drowning him. The thoughts of that...thing pounding in his head. It was all...it was just...
The man darted towards the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He turned on the tap. The cool water flowed. He splashed it onto his face, trying to calm himself down. Sooth the pains wrenching at his sanity. Wash away the fears of it coming back.
He looked up into the mirror.
Bad idea.
There he was. His ghostly reflection, grinning back at him. A look of pure madness in his eyes.
"NO!" he shouted, "n-not again...I-I...you..." his breathing became heavy, "I-I..."
SMASH!
"I HATE YOU!" His fist collided with the mirror. Glass cascaded through the air; shattering into smaller pieces when they connected with the floor.
Not yet. I'm not done. I've almost broke you.
The man stiffened when hew felt a warm breath by his ear.
"But Nihon," the was a small pause, "I am you."
And there we have it, a short dark fic with Japan.
I've seen alot of fanfics and fanart about Japan and dark!Japan, a lot of them show them as two seperate people, but, then you'd could say that you could make a dark version of all the characters, so I thought that instead it's just something that haunts him. I think that every country has something like that, if we wanna keep historically correct and all.