Bonus points for finding all the symbolism crammed don the throat of this poor little story.
Matthew climbed out of bed and quietly tiptoed around the bed where Gilbert was still sleeping. Picking up a discarded dark-gray almost black sweatshirt from the floor to fight off the chill he almost made it out the front door without stepping of some kind of haphazardly strewn art supply. The tube that he stepped on made and unpleasant squelch that seemed a hundred times louder in the quiet he was trying to maintain. Matthew froze as his toe was enveloped in cold red paint. He frowned at it, the paint looking similar to blood if it weren't for the too bright colour and gloopy consistency. Shaking off the distracted thoughts he simply wiped it off on a smock also abandoned on the floor. Disregarding the search for shoes in favour of just socks he muttered a "Fricking art majors." in the direction of his boyfriend as he made his way out the door.
He made his way down the dormitory hall to the stairs inconveniently located outside the building. The cold air hit him suddenly and Matthew hurried down the stairs where his older brother Francis was standing against the main floor wall smoking a cigarette. Matthew stopped next to him and in silent correspondence Francis handed him one. They stood in the brisk fall air Matthew was cold but also not caring; he never brought a proper coat with him anywhere anyways. His step-brother Allen always said he'd catch his death like that but he really didn't care was also his next thought as he took another puff on the cigarette because Allen said he catch his death from those too and Matthew didn't much care about that either.
Matthew surveyed the landscape of yellowing grass dotted with dying poppies, a forest of maple and oak trees with fallen leaves. A lone cypress pine sat out past the tree line with yellow needles that rustled in the wind. The sky was washed with the endless yellows and oranges of the sunrise chasing away the darkness that tinted the world and gave it a strange, solitary mood. That's probably why the drama queen Francis was there- to bask in a dramatic setting full of strange moods and emotions. Matthew stood there as long as his quickly numbing fingers and even more rapidly disappearing cigarette would allow watching distant crows pick at the soil. With an exasperated sigh Matthew crushed the rest under his heel and turned to go inside and the birds behind him startled by an unseen force crowed loudly once breaking the seemingly sacred silence and took off into the forest.
In the dorm's single shared kitchen his half asleep brain began whipping together pancake mix for everyone's breakfast. It was a sort of tradition in the small group of college friends that Matthew would make breakfast. Everyone was extremely grateful to him for providing them with usually their only hot, home-cooked meal of the day. Plus he was the only one up early enough and kind enough to take on the task of feeding the large gluttonous, questionably related group.
Matthew heard the door creak behind him and glancing through the window at Francis still loitering outside he let a smile appear on his face.
"Gil?" Matthew had his hopes up though it could have been any one of their dorm mates. The pan sizzled as he poured the first pancake out onto it. He felt the other man's presence come up behind him and place a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Strange for you to be up this early" Matthew leaned his head back to see just how much of his partner's mind was still upstairs asleep in bed and gasped at the foreign face next to his.
Before he could utter even a word of shock an agonizing, piercing pain embedded itself with a grinding squelch in his stomach cutting off his words with a strangled sound from deep within his throat. He immediately fell to the ground his suddenly strength less legs unable to support his body. Matthew turned his head slowly with much effort to the man, his murder. Matthew's vision was blurring in and out of focus. Blood loss, Mathew recognized, if the feeling of lying in a warm puddle was any soft of tip-off. But he could still see that his stocky body seemed to be made up entirely of one long raven black coat and his face was partially obscured with a scarf.
In a dazed string of morbid thoughts Matthew noted that the large kitchen knife lodged in his stomach had made a sound uncannily similar to the paint tube he had stepped on just half an hour ago; though in those moments time seemed to be moving so fast, and yet so slow. It seemed like an eternity ago.
It was so ironic he almost laughed. That is, if Matthew had been exactly sure how to use his vocal cords. The blood now seeping in range of his fading vision was a colour different from the stuff in the tube, the tube that was so similar to his situation in other ways. And how funny that he would be able to confirm his earlier thought so soon and in this way. The paint hardly mattered anyway. It's not like his strapping self-proclaimed Prussian would care about a bit more paint drying on the linoleum flooring, in fact he probably wouldn't even notice because Gilbert... Gilbert! He had to warn Gilbert to not come into the kitchen and to have him tell everybody to lock their doors and hide.
Matthew's head cleared and with the last of his strength his hand moved toward his legs in search of a pocket with a phone. The man, his murder, chuckled deep and dark before delivering a swift kick to Matthew's middle jostling the blade. He could have screamed if he wanted to the blow forcing the last bit of air from his body, his lungs too weak to draw another. How strange, he thought, to drown on land. Though he would not have to suffer such a fate as the darkness took the last bit of light from his blurred vision.
The man pushed back out the kitchen door and Francis tilted his head in acknowledgement but also to try and see under the low-brimmed hat. All he got was a glimpse of a large nose.
"Did you deliver your message to little Mattieu?" he asked as the man pulled his hat even lower offering a emotionless "Дa." Francis nodded slowly, his eyes closing as he took a drag on his third cigarette that morning. When he opened them the man was gone, seeming to have disappeared into the forest.
Gilbert trudged down the stairs blinking the blurriness from his eyes. Francis was outside the door looking the part of a lazy guardsman watching the horizon with half-lidded eyes smoking a cigarette. A high pitched beeping sound cut through the calm of the frosty morning, starting both men.
Shoving open the kitchen door, Gilbert's eyes burned and his nostrils suddenly filled with black smoke pouring from the skillet on the stove.
"What the hell Matt? You fall asleep back there or something?" He yelled, reaching over the breakfast bar to pour an old cup of tea onto the flame. Steam exploded from the pan, some condensing onto his face.
Skimming around the counter he instantly saw Matt crumpled on the floor, lying in a pool of blood.
"Hey..Hey…" He took a short uneven step forward. "Matt...Answer me." Gilbert crouched down to shake him "Cut it out Matt." Grabbing a cold shoulder Gilbert tugged him over slightly "Wake up! Matthew!" Matthew's body rolled the rest of the way over the knife handle stuck into the air the blade embedded in his abdomen, Gilbert's own shirt hiding the wound itself.
Gilbert sprang back in horror smacking against the counter just as Francis and Alfred burst through the door carrying a fire extinguisher.
"Hey is the fire put out?" Called the ever exuberant American. The two froze at the blood covering Gilbert's palm, and both screamed upon seeing Matthew's corpse. Alfred ran out of the door and Francis ran in. Holding Matthew's shoulders Francis cradled his brother's head into his arms whispering "Mon frère, mon frère, mon frère." over and over again. Gilbert crawled over forcing himself not to think; not to wonder what he would do now that Matthew was…
Gilbert didn't know how long he lay there. It could have been days, it could have been mere seconds. It didn't matter to him. All he wanted to do was stay there and not think of anything, not until his beloved Matthew came back to him. Matthew...
Police burst through the door and pulled Gilbert to his feet. They harshly clapped a set of handcuffs around his wrists they pushed him towards the door. A part of his consciousness came back to life. They couldn't take him away from Matt! He glanced back at the scene where an older cop was helping Francis up as a medical team began to cover Matt's corpse. They couldn't take him away from Francis…
"No! Wait! What are you doing?" Gilbert tried to turn back around and go back to Matthew and Francis. One the cops steering him towards the door spoke in a flat tone tinged with disgust
"You Gilbert Beilschmidt are the primary suspect for the murder of Matthew Williams and are being placed under arrest until further evidence can be found."
Outside Gilbert stumbled over the uneven ground. Alfred stood with his arms crossed, glasses pushed up onto his head tear streaks going down his face staring at him with hatred as Gilbert passed. Alfred muttered a disbelieving "Why?" at him.
Gilbert began to panic as the cop opened the door. Were they seriously going to take him away? His boyfriend had just been murdered! Wasn't anyone going to try and stop them? "Hey what are you doing?" He was shoved into the back seat the door slamming closed in his face. Gilbert whipped around to the rear window as the car started to life and slowly began to move. He saw a gurney being wheeled out of their dorm building with a covered body on it. Matthew's body. He screamed out a last desperate cry at the shrinking scene
"Matthew!"
This was inspired by the first episode of Erased which is an anime really worth checking out. All I can say is poor Francis, he could have stopped it he whole time.
Originally written for the beautiful brieann1 hope you have a lovely day darling! (same for anyone still reading this)
-phantomcat83