READ! PLEASE!
A/N:
It has been way to fruking long since I uploaded anything! For all of the followers and people who have liked my past stuff-which I don't see how because they're o terrible- thank you guys so much~~! It really makes me happy. :3
Now, for this story I roughly based it off of a scene from The Following. Anyone seen it? Well, after sobbing after said scene I instantly thought it would make an awesome fan fic. So, this is chapter one of my inspiration. XD I said ROUGHLY based, so the only scene that would really match is the last chapter.
Anyways, as for other works: I will finish uncompleted fics! I swear! You can all punch me if I don't. Just give me some time; I've been bust with other things and school is approaching once more. -.-
Other than that, enjoy and please review?! But be nice in critiques~. I know my writing sucks.
And by the way, this is UsUk. Umm I may of may not add a bit of mature stuff? ;w; I have rp-ed smut but uh, never wrote it. XDD So, we'll see. If enough people see this and review, I will try upon request. XD So, for now ratings are subject to change. And yes, I do love to torture my characters. Yes, my favorite character is America, or Alfred Jones. Yes, angst is all you shall get. XD
SO, enjoy~!
I killed a man.
A young man with light, tousled blonde hair and prescription glasses he didn't really need stumbled back from the slumped body in front of him. His mind raged at what had just occurred; one drink and one brawl led to another, and now there was a man dead. Cerulean eyes wide, panicked, he continued to back away until his back hit the wall. He hadn't meant to. He didn't mean to put a body there, to take away a life though tarnished still innocent. Yet there it was, cold and paling, the face already beginning to bloat up a bit, a disgusting sight—a familiar sight he knew all too well.
Just like the dead from the battlefield. Though this wasn't a warzone—it was the city, full of civilians, human beings. These were people who didn't have to worry about moving the dead or defending their positions and comrades. All they had to worry about was paying mortgages and waking up in time to go to work or school.
Not this. Not killing. Leave that to wars and to soldiers and psychopaths.
He was a soldier. He had been in countless wars. But he wasn't a psychopath.
A civilian. Dead. Because of him.
Shit…Ah…Why did I do that? Alfred Jones leaned back against the wall, pressing himself up against it as if to melt away from the scene. No matter how many lives he had purposely snuffed out, no matter how many times he had seen to it that a person suffered until he got answers so he could kill even more, he had not meant to kill this man. He was no insurgent, no terrorist, and no murderer nor enemy. Just an idiot looking for a fight after a lost game of pool. Now a dead man with a cracked skull and a punctured heart.
Running a hand through his hair, Alfred dropped the black pocket knife in his hand. It clattered to the ground, tiny blood droplets dripping from the blade and onto the concrete. He slid down the wall and slumped to the ground. He rubbed his face in his hands and gripped his hair stressfully.
"D-damn… What should I do?" he mumbled.
As the young American pondered this, his phone began to vibrate. Blinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the slim piece of technology. Glancing down at the screen, he answered the phone.-
"H..Hello?" his voice cracked a bit.
A familiar voice answered him, one that he hadn't expected nor heard in years. That voice…
"Alfred? Are you alright you git? I bet you're sick from all that repulsing food you eat. Really…" He heard the Briton man grumble as his sentence dropped. Swallowing, his throat suddenly dry, Alfred moved his lips to speak. No words came.
A silence enshrouded him. He suddenly felt timid, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't have done.
Arthur…
His grip tightened on the phone, close to cracking the small device. Bit his bottom lip, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"…Hello? Alfred, are you there? You'd better not be ignoring me you gi—"
"Arthur." His voice cracked again, and he struggled to find the words. "Arthur, I…"
"Alfred? What's wrong?" Arthur's voice switched from irritated to concerned. He knew his former charge all too well to tell when something was amiss.
Gritting his teeth, Alfred stumbled over his words, staring ahead at the bloated body across from him. The blood. Red. Painted along the wall. An unhinged jaw. One sunken-in eye, rimmed with black.
A mess.
"I…Arthur I killed a man. A c-civilian. And I don't—I didn't mean it—b-but I don't know what to fucking do right now, and I keep staring at him and he's not an enemy or insurgent or killer and, and—Oh God, Arthur—"
The Briton's voice rose, but calm, filled with clarity. "Alfred! Alfred, calm down. Listen to me; you don't kill without good reason to. I know you. Don't worry. Tel me where you are, and I'll come and get you. Okay?"
He gulped and nodded, quietly relaying his location to the man on the other end of the line.
"Alright. I'll be there soon, alright? Stay there, Alfred. Stop staring at the corpse; I know you are. Hang on."
The line went dead. Numbly, he slid the phone back into his pocket before bringing his knees up to his chest and laying his head against his arms. With a shaking sigh, he went still, closed his eyes, and waited.
It seemed like forever.
Arthur.
His foot was asleep.
His neck hurt.
Arthur?
How long had it been?
—Arth…
What time was it?
His neck ached—
…Arthur…—
He hated that smell—
"Alfred."
...review~! XDD