If I were to describe my brother with one word it would be "strange," and anyone with eyes could tell you that.

He had snow-white skin that would always glisten surreally even at twilight, not to mention his silvery locks. His eyes were the strangest though; they looked like they were always bleeding. His dark brown irises always looked red in a certain light. He had an arrogant attitude and didn't have any regard for the rules. He was such a rebellious child, and only fourteen years old at that. At the time, I was eleven.

Of course, I'm thirty-four now, but my memory is stony and frozen; sketched and sculpted out of marble. Therapists hadn't worked, and so I turned to writing. They say if you write out your feelings, you'll feel better. Though I'm not sure it's working too well.

My brother, Gilbert was indeed strange, and anyone with eyes could tell you that. But no one could tell you how strange he was quite like I could. And so I will, with this story, I will. The only problem I face is the title, and so, I feel that I should name it for him.

Red Eyes For Gilbert; Silver Hair For Prussia.

To be honest, I wasn't that close with Gilbert. He was my half-brother, and was constantly a blabbermouth. I didn't care for him much. I was his stoic, boring younger brother, Ludwig. My mother had married our father after he'd already had Gilbert with another woman. I would try to ask him if he missed his birth mother, and he just smiled widely. He told me: "Even if I did, it doesn't matter much now. I'd best be happy with what I have!"

He had an obsession with history, specifically the Prussian Empire. His room was adorned with the Prussian flag and he insisted upon being called "Prussia." He really was a strange one.

Of course it helped that he was from east Germany, and was born the year before the Prussian Empire was officially dissolved.

His father had moved west after the second World War and met my mother (or wasn't yet) when Gilbert was two years of age. It wasn't long before I was born.

I still haven't moved from Berlin since I was born. I work managing a fairly decent-sized business and it's thriving well. It's been a while since then, but I still think about it every minute of my days. I still think about Gilbert. I don't see him much anymore, and that's a bit of an understatement.

He was strong-willed and would never back down from a fight. And though he was older than me by three years, I seemed to grow a bit quicker than him which made it look the other way around. He never let that deter his confidence though; he'd often challenge me to fight.

I let him win a couple times.

I didn't hang out with him at school, and I didn't know whom he hanged out with either. I didn't know what he ate for lunch or what time he went to sleep. I didn't know what his favorite song was, and I didn't know why he had such a massive grin.

I remember a few times we'd get into serious conversations, and yet his smile hadn't fallen. It was unnerving.

"Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?" Gilbert whispered through his cracked smile one day.

"I haven't… Dwelled on it," I said monotone in reply.

The corners of his lips twitched.

"I hope I go to heaven," his eyes flickered into mine.

If I was a bit older, wiser, then, I would have noticed the wistfulness.

One day he brought a girl home, and I didn't even know her name—even to this day, she remains a mystery.

She had long brown hair that wisped around when she walked. She had a strong arm and was a bit of a tomboy. If I may say so, she was like a small Christmas present. She looked small and nothing-special on the outside, but you had no idea that when you opened it, there would be a diamond ring.

She had a tendency to hit Gilbert, and Gilbert to tease her. His smile seemed brightest around her, and the girl often had to hide her own.

It was that day that I realized I really knew nothing about Gilbert.

Looking back, I know Gilbert was in love with her and that she loved him.

I really wish I knew her name.

I probably called Gilbert "Prussia" more times than I called him by his actual name. He wanted me to, and I was young, so I obliged.

I wish I called him "Gilbert" more.

The depressing conversations started to get more frequent, and I thought nothing of it at the time.

"I wonder if the world continues like nothing happens once you're gone," he said in a dreamy tone, looking out to the star-lit sky.

I looked at him with curious eyes and replied, "I think it does."

His smile grew. "That's awesome."

Awesome.

Anyone who spent two minutes with Gilbert knew that he used the word "awesome" more times than necessary. With a conceited mind, he often declared he was the "awesomest" person in the world. That the Prussian Empire was the awesomest empire to ever reign.

If you told him it didn't exist he would shake his head so quickly it looked like it would fall off.

"It's still here! Prussia still exists!" he would insist stubbornly and turn around with a cocky grin.

But once—just once—I saw the grin falter under no eyes but my own.

"It hasn't fallen yet," he whispered to himself.

I wasn't that close with him. Gilbert was away from home more times than often and our father would be away with him occasionally. They would arrive home late at night, long after I'd drifted off to sleep, and I only know this because one night I stayed up to see when he would come home.

I could hear crying.

It was soft and it was feeble, and it was definitely crying.

"Daddy, I've been thinking a lot, and I don't want to die," I could hardly make out the sobbed sentence.

"You're not dying yet," came the comforting words, "take your prescription. You'll be fine."

But even our father's strong voice sounded like he was walking on thin ice.

My bedroom door had swung open and I shut my eyes, hoping they wouldn't notice I was awake. I don't think they did, though to this day, I'll never be so sure. I do know that Gilbert had walked slowly into my bedroom and his ice-cold hand had touched my cheek. It was damp with tears and his voice was broken to shards.

"Ludwig, you're a really nice brother, you know that?" he whispered. "We don't hang out much, but I can tell you're awesome. I love you, okay?"

I hardly dared to breathe, and after a few moments, I felt his hand fall away and his figure retreat. I could do nothing but listen as his light footsteps pattered away into his own bedroom.

My pillow had been a bit uncomfortable that night and my eyes had felt sore from the tears prying my eyelids open.

The next morning it was sickening to see how Gilbert looked no different than any other day. That his smile hadn't vanished and that his eyes stayed bright and defiant. That his cocky attitude hadn't seemed any different than any other day.

I did make notice of the times he went into the kitchen with our father after meals and that he went to the clinic office during lunch at school.

Some days his eyes looked redder than others. His dark brown irises would have a glint of crimson and the veins would look more vibrant. Sometimes his skin would look paler. I used to just think it was something in his genetics.

But the thing I remember the most has been burned into my memory forever. I still feel his fingers wrapped coldly around mine and I hear his hoarse laughter in my ears. His weak voice still plagues me.

I was in the hospital room, let out of school for the call. Our father was already in the room when my mother picked me up from school and drove me there. I think she was speeding, but does that honestly matter anymore?

I felt my breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of him.

The strong, arrogant, laughing, Prussia was lying limply in a hospital bed with a ghost of a smile scattered on his lips.

"Hi, Ludwig," he said weakly.

His voice was as feeble as daisies.

I regret that I didn't reply to him.

I walked closer with confusion, shock, and helplessness screaming from my silent throat.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said slowly, "But I didn't want you to be sad, too."

I couldn't speak.

He smiled a bit wider and his eyelids drooped.

"They said I lived long for my condition though," he continued, "Most people don't live to be thirteen. I passed it. The mighty Prussian Empire!"

His shout of glee sounded diluted and drooped close to the ground.

"Don't cry," he told me.

I hadn't even realized I was.

"It's okay. Prussia's falling now."

His hand fell into my own and my eyes flickered between it and his slowly closing eyes.

"G-Gilbert, wait," I pleaded, "Don't go yet."

I don't think he could hear me, though.

"Gilbert?" I asked helplessly and held his frigid hand tighter. "Prussia?" I whispered.

The eternal B flat tone of the monitor was deafening.

And to this day, I don't know if he ever heard me call his name. I don't think he did, so does it matter that I said it, if he never heard me? And to this day, I don't know the name of the girl he loved.

I ponder his questions that he asked me.

Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

I think Gilbert is a star. The one that's really bright in the sky and that always shines down. The one that's always the first one out into the sky. I've decided: It's Gilbert.

I wonder if the world continues like nothing happened once you're gone.

There is a difference between world and planet. The planet will continue like nothing, alive or dead be any human or all humans. The world—at least my world—has died from the day you did. I continue my dreary life, I suppose so, however, not a day passes I don't think of you; that I don't feel remorse that I didn't spend more time with you. You really were a wonderful person. Or should I use your word? "Awesome."

But I wonder for you: has your world ended in entirety or do you look down on me and watch me while I'm typing this document? Will you smile more sincerely when I publish it? I'm not so sure I will. It's a personal story to tell, and the part about it would make me feel better—well perhaps it did its job.

And do you want to know something pretty funny, Gilbert? I had trouble in history class after that. I kept putting the wrong date for when the Prussian Empire was dissolved.