Gilbert Beilschmidt wondered many things. He thought about events and people who's time had long since past. He remembered his days of glory, when Prussia ruled most of Eastern Europe. The albino remembered when he wasn't a burden to Westen, when he didn't depend on Ludwig to survive. Gil remembered, and he regret. There were so many things he'd done while he was the Awesome nation of Prussia, both good and horribly wrong.
Most didn't realize how much Gil thought about the past. They believed he was always in the present, causing trouble so he was not forgotten. Not even his younger brother knew the extent to which Gilbert hid things. The ex-nation tried to shield West from his ever deteriorating state. He concealed the thoughts of suicide, the excessive drinking, the downward spiral that the albino was caught in. Soon, Gil sensed, he'd hit rock bottom.
And what would he do then? What was there left to do anymore? The world didn't need him. Ludwig didn't need him. Roddy and Eliza sure as hell didn't want him around. Even Antonio and Francis were too busy sorting out the economical issues of their countries to be around Gilbert. People were starting to forget that Prussia had ever existed, especially the newest generations.
So why was he still here? Why did God, or who ever was up there, decide to keep him alive? Gilbert was no longer a nation. He had no landmass, no people, no government. He was truly nothing. Gil was now just a shell of a person, a hollowed out being of what once was a great country. He didn't know what to be anymore.
Was the albino that drunkard in the corner of the bar? The elder brother mooching off the younger? Gilbert didn't know what he was. He didn't know if he was worth anything anymore, if there was some reason for him to keep surviving. Which is how he came to be looking down over the edge of a thirteen story building in Berlin.
He was curious as to if this fall would kill him or not. Would it be quick, with his neck breaking upon impact, or would he die slowly, his bones shattered into pieces, bleeding out on the sidewalk? Gil didn't even know if he'd die. Nations cannot kill themselves, but Gilbert was an ex-nation, so maybe, this would work.
He'd left a note to Ludwig and everyone else who might care. The albino told them not to be sad or shocked, as this had been a long time overdue. It was his time to finally leave this accursed Earth, and to go where ever the dead went next. He wasn't needed anymore, so why bother staying? Gilbert knew he did nothing but drag everyone around him down.
As he looked down to the street below, the Prussian grew calm. Maybe he'd be reborn as a new person in the world, who knew? Gilbert shuffled closer to the edge, ready to take this leap. But the door to leading to the roof burst open, revealing a panicked, desperate German. Gilbert turned around to face his little brother, smiling. He brought his arm up and waved at Ludwig, slowly backing toward the roof's end.
"Auf Wiedersehen, Westen."
With that, Gilbert Beilschmidt fell thirteen stories.
He did not survive.