Sunday Best

Arthur Kirkland arrived at the gates, praying that they would let him in.

Before that, Arthur waited in the crowded elevator, foot tapping impatiently. Endless faces stared at nothing in particular, the floor, immaculate fingernails, a stain on a white collar. An expressionless tune wafted in the thick air. Glancing at the panel to his left, Arthur was glad to see that he was going up and he hadn't gotten into the wrong lift.

Before that, Arthur patted down his hair and straightened out his tie, because he wanted to make a good impression.

Before that, a bellboy with an air too regal for such a profession snatched Arthur by the arm and shoved a small suitcase into Arthur's arms. Dress in your Sunday best, he said, everyone else is, and with a haughty turn of a golden head, he left.

Before that, Arthur checked into the hotel which he hadn't quite caught the name of (it began with an L, or was it a P) and looked around the lobby. Old men and thin children, shady guys skulking in corners with busted up noses, priests, rich ladies in their finest and those whose hand-me-downs looked older than Arthur was.

Before that, Arthur opened his eyes and found himself in total darkness that felt wet on his skin, until he turned and spotted a glaring neon light, a building, and walked towards it.

Before that, Arthur's vision began to blot black at the edges and spread inwards, and a shrill constant drone suddenly replaced the increasingly frantic beeping, until even that faded out too.

Before that, a bloodied groan gurgled from a smashed mouth.

Before that, Arthur was driving to work, when there was the sound of crunching metal.

AN: Ok guys, this is really, really short. Not really to do with Hetalia either, we had to write flash fiction for homework, I'm horrible at names, so yeah. If you were hoping for an update, I apologise. It's been a long time, I know. I'm working on it.