Chapter Nine: Suicidal Brothers of Different Times
Warnings: Torture, Death, Suicide, FrUk, Mentions of masturbation and sex.
-000-
England's POV
I'm not sure when it happened, but I have become aware of my state of being. As always, I'm floating in an endless void of black. I forget why I'm here in the first place, though it's probably because of our captor. Who knows whether I was tortured endlessly or if I passed out from hunger? At the very least, I'm nearing consciousness. Considering that this is most likely at the fault of my masked captor, I'm not sure if I want to awake.
Gently, a stream of light poured into the void like a waterfall from the heavens. Oh, I must have healed already. Sooner than expected, I felt myself reach the real world. With the twitch of my finger, I confirm that I am indeed alive again.
"God, what happened to me?" I muttered. My eyelashes are stuck together with stinging eyes to accompany it. Blinking, I try open them. While I am trying to regain the use of my eyes, my ears pick up the sound of loud sobbing. Once the caked on crust is separated, I look around the room. Oh god, what happened while I was out?
My dear little brother is splayed out face down on the ground with dried blood surrounding him. A dirtied knife remains in the grasp of his lifeless hands. Looking to the right, I see France curled up in a ball with cries racking his dangerously thin body. Noticing I'm awake, France looks at me with bloodshot eyes. Shamefully, he turns his head and wipes his tear stained-cheeks swiftly. I can't even begin to imagine what atrocities took place during my unconsciousness.
Straining my vocal chords, I utter, "France, what happened while I was dead?" He opened his mouth to speak, but tears pooled down his cheeks before he could try. Holding his tongue, his jaw clenches and I spot his yellowed teeth. The France I know would never allow his teeth to be any less than perfect, though nothing in this god forsaken hospital is right. Noticing my staring, France puts his hand over his mouth to cover the disarray of his dental hygiene.
Shakily, France takes in a breath of air. "Italy is gone," he states. Stray tears spill from his eyes and drop onto his baggy hospital gown.
"What do you mean 'Italy is gone' did he die again? I wouldn't be surprised since the man is always-"
France interrupted, "No, England! Italy is dead forever!" Furious cerulean eyes stab through me like daggers. "I saw it all with my own eyes! He is not coming back from this!" He snaps his head away from me and more tears flow freely.
"That can't be true, France. Unless his nation collapsed, he'll be fine." I try to console him, but he's too worked up to be reasoned with.
France refuted, "Not if he destroyed the heart! That is the most important part of a nation. Even so, if our bodies are damaged beyond healing, we probably die too."
"All of our current beliefs on a nation's death are theoretical. None of the nations that passed left a body for us to investigate. The only one we can be certain of is the circumstance I said before," I respond.
"Have you ever killed a nation?" A chill creeps down my spine when he states that. Eyes wide, he looks at me like he's gone mad. "You do not know the feeling of ending a nation's life."
"Are you talking about-" He cuts me off before I can finish.
"Yes, I am talking about him. Even after all this time, it burdens my mind, but he is no more."
"E-even so," I stutter, "was his heart or body destroyed?"
"I don't want to think about this anymore. Let's talk about something different."
"Okay then. So, onto the next important matter, can you explain why is America dead?"
Bluntly he says, "Oh, he killed himself shortly after you. He must have been hearing voices or something; he kept murmuring things like 'yes, I'll do it, England' and 'aren't I a good boy, England?' I think the burden of our situation has broken America."
"I agree. If we can survive, it's going to take a lot of effort to fix the damage that's been done."
"If Italy has already fallen victim to him, who is to say we will not join him?" France articulates.
Sighing, I say, "Well, we should at least be a bit hopeful. Sure, everything is a sack of shit right now but it's going to be a bigger sack of horse shit if we lose all hope."
"That is one way you could say it," France states.
My eyes dart to America's corpse at the sight of sudden movement. Just as I did moments ago, his body twitches, and life comes back into his body.
"Ugh, what happened?" America groans. In an effort to get up, he pushes himself of the ground but that results in him tearing the flesh on his stomach. A scratchy wail escapes America's mouth.
"Why didn't you bother to put him in a better healing position?" I snap at France.
"Would you want to touch him after going into shock?"
"Yes, I would because I care about other nations!" I refute.
France yells, "Italy died permanently after you too took a nap with death! You don't know the hell I have had to face alone!"
"Wait, Italy's dead?!" America questions.
Ignoring America I quip back at France, "So you couldn't be bothered to at least pick him up so he wouldn't heal incorrectly? I see how it is. You just don't care, do you?"
France's face scrunches up with his brows shifting. "You say I don't care while you are the one that tore your flesh apart even when we told you not to!"
"I did it out of self-sacrifice!" I exclaim.
"You did it for your selfish need to escape reality! You left both America and I distraught and you see what happened because of that!"
America hollers, "What the hell are y'all talking about? What happened to Italy?!"
"Shut up, this is not about you! England is calling me selfish when he is the selfish one."
"I'm not selfish in the slightest! Who filled your belly when you were starving?!" Bitter tears pool at the edge of my eyelids threatening to spill at any slight movement.
"Who caused America to kill himself?!" France argued. Droplets of saliva follow the harsh words from his mouth.
In defense I shout, "Who didn't help America after he killed himself?!"
"I killed myself?!" America squawks in the midst of the chaos.
"Shut up!" we both yell.
"I have done nothing wrong! I do not understand why you are so upset at me!" France cries.
"I hate you, France! I don't know what the hell your problem is, but I don't want to be associated with the likes of you!"
"Guys, calm down!" America shouts, "If you two fight, how are we supposed to focus on escaping? We need to work together!"
"He has a point, England."
"Shut the hell up, France! I don't want to hear it." I want to be civil and agree with him, but my pride and stubbornness conflict with that.
"C'mon, Iggy, don't be like that." I don't budge. Instead, I opt to walk into the far left corner and ignore them. What a traitor! America should be siding with me!
I mutter, "Maybe I'd be better off killing myself again."
"What did you just say?" France asks.
Louder, I reiterate, "Maybe I'd be better off killing myself again!"
"See, America? He wants to escape the world again and leave us with the burden of his corpse."
"Guys, can you please stop fighting?" America whines.
My eyes dart to the bloodied knife in the middle of the room. Hastily, I snatch the knife from the center and stand with the knife pointing at my heart.
"I'll do it. I'll fucking do it!" I yell.
"I fucking dare you!" France bleats.
"England, put the knife down." America says calmly, though his eyes are widened and his body is shaking like a leaf.
With a bitter tone, France replies, "No, let him do it! It will be much less of a headache on our end if we do not have to listen to his constant whining."
"No one here deserves to die!" America refutes.
"Well it sure would make shit easier on the both of you if I offed myself, wouldn't it?" I respond.
"You're wrong! We need you to stay alive, England!"
"America, he is clearly not strong enough to live. We are in a survival of the fittest situation, so if he chooses to end his life it is not my problem."
"So you think that being mentally unstable is worth death? What is your problem, France?!" America yells.
"I am not going to let England think that he is higher than he actually is! He thinks he is so great for killing himself so now he is doing the same thing in order for us to praise him!" Oh, so that's what he thinks of me? I'll show him!
"I am not doing this for something as selfish as that! It's clear that you two would benefit if I died!"
"Do you think I am going to eat your flesh like a filthy savage again? I am not going to do that! I hope you have fun rotting in here because I am not touching your disgusting corpse once the deed is done."
A tear rolls down America's cheek. His voice wavers as he shouts, "Do you even hear yourself? You're pretty much encouraging him to end his own life! That's just not right at all!"
"It is clear that England is merely bluffing! He will not end his life, and I know that!"
"Bluffing? You think I'm fucking bluffing?! I hope that I haunt you in death!" With the knife aimed at my heart, I nearly thrust it into myself, though I'm interrupted by a familiar person.
A bright light fills my eyes and a chipper robotic voice stings my ears. My grip on the knife releases. The clatter of a knife echoes throughout the room. As usual, the hooded man appears in front of the screen though something is different about him. Has there always been a red splatter on his mask?
"Hello, captives!" he cheers, "Now that you are all awake, I am happy to inform our little nappers of what happened. You see, Italy is gone forever. I shipped his head not too long ago so Romano should have that at his door soon. That is, if Travis could manage to deliver it properly."
"Today I have something special planned! Guess what it is. If you said another experiment, you're right! I'm not going to go into detail, but let's just say it'll make you wet yourself, emphasis on the wet!" He giggles like a girl at the joke and continues, "Now it's time to spin the wheel and find our next special victim!"
My eyes are glued to the screen in anticipation as the wheel spins. With one person dead after weeks of torture, it's only fair to assume the same fate of the next unlucky person the wheel lands on. Gently, the wheel starts to slow until it halts on a name.
"Well, look at that! Russia, you've been chosen!" I breathe out a sigh of relief since I haven't been chosen, though I can't help but feel bad for the poor sap. The captor seems to have an odd strategy; first, he killed one of the weakest captives, but now he's going after one of the strongest. I'm certain that the wheel isn't a game of chance since Italy was deliberately targeted, so what's the point of this?
The screen flips to the footage from Russia's room. It seems as though he killed the two he was roomed with, though the blood on their hands and knives centimeters away from them implies that it was self-inflicted. Maybe Japan and China had a suicide pact that Russia wasn't in on. Or they could have done it to avoid torture since you can't torture a corpse. The blood is dry and caked, so they died quite a while ago. On the walls of the room are paintings of flowers that seem to resemble sunflowers. Was this his way of coping?
"Alright, lunatic, time for the experiment," the man states in his usual garbled speech. Russia turns to face him.
"Why did they die?" he asks quietly. "They left me all alone in here."
"Anyone with a brain can tell that you killed them, psycho. You even had the gall to paint with the blood of your victims. Anyways, you're coming with me."
"What? I would not hurt them! They left me!"
"I don't care about your stupid lies, so stop trying to make me believe that you didn't kill them. I don't even care that they're dead. After all, we- I mean I, kind of encouraged you to kill your roommates."
Russia began to tear up. "I am all alone."
"Yeah, whatever." The cloaked man points the taser at him nonchalantly and activates it, shocking Russia. Screams omit from him as his body convulses, and the Goliath falls under our smaller captor.
As per usual, the screen goes dark momentarily. During this, I decide to finally sit down and wait in anticipation.
"What do you think is gonna happen to him?" America asks.
"He is going to be tortured just as Italy was," France responds.
America says, "Well no shit, Sherlock! I'm not a idiot!"
"It's 'I'm not an idiot', America," I reply.
"Wow, I didn't know we were in English class. Save the corrections for a better time; we're about to watch someone get tortured."
"I hope it does not get too violent," France muttered. "I do not think I could handle it after what I have witnessed."
The screen clicked back on. Shown on the screen is a mostly empty room. The only thing in the room is a strange clear chamber with tiny holes in the bottom of it. A weak Russia is sitting cross-legged in the chamber with his head hanging down.
The cloaked man is nowhere to be seen, though his scrambled voice can be heard speaking, "Wait until you see what this thing can do! The chamber will activate in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…"
After the countdown, water begins to seep from the pores of the chamber floor. Oddly enough, Russia seems indifferent.
"Oh, just water?" he asks.
"Just water?!" the man yells, "Just water?! Do you even know how painful it is to drown?!"
"What a peaceful way to go for now," Russia murmurs and sighs. "After what I have seen from you, this seems so calm and relaxing.
"Oh now you've done it!" he screams and the television cuts off.
"What's going on?" America inquires. "Shouldn't Russia have known not to anger the guy? Now he's gonna get it."
"Perhaps that's what he wanted," I chip in. "Even though the deaths of his roommates were suicides, maybe he feels guilty and somehow responsible, and he may think that he deserves to be punished."
"I dunno, that Russia dude doesn't seem like the kind of guy to feel guilt."
"He's still a person like us, America. Just because you two used to have a petty nuclear dispute back in the day doesn't mean he's lesser than us," I say.
"You know Russia's a weirdo, though."
"And what does that have to do with this?"
"It might just be that Russia's not scared of him. Russia's got balls of steel."
France being the pervert he is chimes in, "Ah, so what was that about Russia's balls? Are you suggesting that you have been in bed with him?"
"You know exactly what I mean, France! I would never sleep with a stinking commie! Don't be a dick!"
"Dick, hmm? Oh I can be the best dick you have ever had if you ask politely."
Disgusted, I yell, "God, France, I swear! You never know when to stop with your stupid dirty jokes!"
"And you never know when to stop with the sexual frustration. Why not do things like we did back when that one was younger? You know you miss mon dick."
"For the love of god, stop! Now is not the time for sex, especially in front of America!"
"So if he wasn't here, you would want to?"
I hesitated a moment. France has pleasured me in the past like no other, but god, what am I thinking?!
"You have not responded. Is that a yes? America, turn around while the grown-ups have their fun."
"We will be having no fun right now! Stop trying to fuck me! You have a right hand, so use it!" The thought of France masturbating does sound arousing. I would probably get a bit turned on as well. Oh, what am I doing?! His stupid presence is the demon of lust in disguise!
"I am merely joking with you, Angleterre. No need to get frisky with me!"
"This conversation is over!"
America butts it, "Ugh, you stupid old hags need to stop talking about this shit in front of me! I don't want to think about France's limpy cock in my brother's ass!"
"Hey, my cock is not 'limpy!' It is still as youthful and firm as a college kid's."
"Again, I don't wanna hear about your ancient dick!" he refutes.
"If you insult my manhood one more time, I will castrate you on the spot!"
"And I will file a restraining order upon our escape!"
Before France can say anything else, the TV turns on and everyone is silent once more. The time for joking is over.
Now, Russia is chained to the wall with his hands stretched out. The man is standing in front of him with a knife at Russia's chest.
"You don't know how much pain I went through! You think that drowning is a relaxing way to go? I'll just have to use a more effective method of torture on you since you clearly don't understand anything about death!"
With his gloved hand holding a firm grip on the knife, he skims the blade over Russia's chest causing the hospital gown to tear. The man rips off the rest of the gown, leaving Russia bare except for his boxers.
"What are you planning?" Russia asks.
"Shut the hell up! I don't want to hear another word from you!" Russia closes his mouth.
The man takes his knife and begins to carve into the flesh on Russia's chest. Russia's eyes snap wide open as his back arches. A blast of an agonized screech shatters my eardrums.
"Why are you doing this?!" he yells.
"I said shut the hell up!" The man hastily yanks Russia's tongue from out of his mouth and hacks it off with the knife. Blood gushes out of the area as Russia cries out in pain.
"There, now you can't talk," the man says in the usual scrambled monotone voice.
Russia's eyes quickly redden before tears flow down to his chin. He attempts to scream out a response, but only bloodied spitting and throaty cackling come out.
Seemingly unfazed, he continues with the carving. More tortured screams come forth followed by crimson floods of blood from his mouth. A clear 'P' is engraved onto him.
The man says, "You sure seem to cry a lot, don't you? It reminds me of someone close to me." The P seeps out blood as Russia continues to shout in miserable bloody gurgles.
The man then takes the knife and, ever so slowly, begins to write more.
Russia tries to squirm away, but all his efforts are only causing a commotion of clattering chains.
"You can't escape me," he taunts. "This is your new home, Russia. You will live here like a pig in squalor until you die like a dog. You are merely my plaything until you get worn. Once you're all played out, I'll throw your body away like garbage, and you will be replaced. Your life means nothing to me."
Russia shakes his head and continues to squeal from the torment. The screams are so loud that they can be heard all the way from my room without the TV broadcasting it.
"Hey, stop that! You'll mess up your tattoo!"
Ignoring him, he continues to fidget. The man doesn't seem to think much of it, so he keeps on carving out the letters. Because of his movement, Russia ends up causing more pain than necessary since keeping still would probably end it faster. Blood coats Russia's chest. The lettering is now hard to make out, but the motion of the writing looks like a 'U'.
Moving on to the next letter, the man stabs into the meat and makes a clear 'S' into his chest. Delirious, Russia blares out raw screeches that echo throughout the facility and tries to rip himself away from the wall, but the chains hold their ground. More blood pours out of his mouth leaving his neck covered in the sticky crimson ooze.
Another 'S' follows the first. The salty tears rushing down his face mix in with the metallic blood pooling underneath. A normal person would have passed out by now, but nations like us are cursed with a higher tolerance to normally fatal things. The already pale face of Russia's becomes nearly paper white from all the blood loss.
A whine escapes his stained face as the man pierces him with a final letter: Y. Too exhausted to continue his desperate screams of pain, he merely whines like a tired dog. Once the word is formed, the man stands back to admire his handy-work. He nonchalantly flicks off the blood from his knife.
Finally, Russia succumbs to a temporary death at the hands of the man. Weary eyes flutter shut, and his body slumps over with him dangling from the chains bound on his wrists.
Once the TV cuts off, I realized that I've been shaking. Cold sweat coats my clammy skin with goosebumps scattered throughout my arms and legs. Along with that, the room feels much chillier than earlier.
I huff out a sigh, though I didn't realize my breath was being held in the first place. I swallow my saliva and look at America and France. Both have the same reaction as I did to the scene.
"God, how much longer will it be until we get rescued?" America asks.
France breathes out a loud sigh before replying, "We might not ever get rescued. If it has been this long, how do we know that they are even looking for us?"
"They have to be looking!" I snap back. "We are some of the world's strongest nations!"
"They would benefit from our disappearance, no? With us gone, someone else could rise to power," France states.
"Our leaders wouldn't want us gone," I point out.
"But they would become much more powerful with us no longer being at the top."
"Guys, can we stop talking about this kind of thing? I don't wanna think about any more depressing stuff." With that, America lies down and passes out on the spot.
"We should get some rest, too," I say. France nods his head and we both lie on the ground. I can't find myself able to fall asleep, though I'm sure I will end up passing out eventually.
-000-
Unknown POV
"It's kind of weird how I regained control even though it was originally your turn to torture someone," I say to her.
"Well, that man did insult your first death. I wanted to watch you take your anger out on him," the demon replies. "Besides, there are plenty of other opportunities for me to torture."
"Now, can you not give me any weird dreams? I don't need to experience my previous deaths again."
"Sorry, sweetie, no promises! It's fun to watch you squirm in your sleep as I torture your mind. Doesn't it give you nostalgia for the good ol' days?"
"No, not at all. Who would find nostalgia in torture except for a freak like you?"
"Eh, I've met people like that."
"I'm going to bed. No bad dreams."
"I can't guarantee anything!"
Ignoring her, I flop down on the bed and fall asleep.
-000-
Too many people have died because of that woman. Everything has been miserable since Italy's death and it just got worse as the others joined him. It's impossible to figure her out, and yet I still tried my best to do just that.
Even though I tried my very best, I know what I must do. I've already made the arrangements with her, so this will be my last day alive. My death will let England live through another trial. He's much smarter than me, and I know that he's much more capable of identifying the woman. If he can figure out her true identity, we can escape. That was what she told us on the first day.
Today is a trial day, and I already talked to her about volunteering myself last night. She thought my self-sacrifice sounded hilarious. I already know that I'm completely useless, but she didn't have to rub it in.
Right now, I sit in my normal place in the jury. Her "trials" are just a way to mock us for our mistakes and sentence us to death. I hope that we can just avoid it for me since I already know that I have no purpose; I can only benefit the others through my sacrifice.
The lady said, "Hello, captives, and welcome to our trial. As you all know, I draw a name from the hat and put that nation on trial. After you are tried, I sentence you to a fitting punishment. However, today is a little different. A certain somebody has chosen to volunteer to die." She pointed at me and mewled, "Come on up!"
I looked to England and saw his eyes widen. "No, it can't be," he murmured. I gave him a melancholic smile and walked up to the front of the courtroom.
"I don't think he really needs a trial. After all, he was foolish enough to give himself up to me without a bit of a fight. Besides, he already knows that he's practically worthless. I sentence him to death as I've done to everyone else." She took my hands and used a rope to tie them behind my back. She knows I wouldn't try anything, but she can't take any chances.
Afterwards, she led me to the all too familiar Execution Room. So many people have died in here, and now I'm going to be one of them.
"How do you want to die?" she asked. "I don't normally offer this to the others, but I didn't plan yours since you told me so short of notice."
"What do you mean about planning?"
"It was pretty obvious that the selection was rigged. That's why I laughed at your stupid self-sacrifice spiel. Anyways, how do you want to die?"
"I'm dying for nothing. I really am completely useless," I muttered.
She sneered, "Aw, that's cute. If it makes you feel any better, I'm not going to kill England anytime soon. I've planned for him to be the last to die since the very beginning."
"Oh, there really is no point for me to die. Is it too late to change my mind?"
"Definitely. It's not like you were going to last much longer anyways. This was originally going to be America's death day, but you interrupted that. I don't really mind; I'm actually anticipating how England is going to react to the fact that you're pretty much killing yourself. He'll be devastated!"
"I'm sure England will be fine without me. He never cared that much about me anyways."
She groaned at my response and said, "Okay, whatever. Now, tell me how you want to die."
"I think drowning would be nice. It sounds like a relaxing way to go."
"Let me just get what we need and you'll be all set."
After a few minutes, she brought a clear tank in and set it in the middle of the room.
"Here it is! Let me just untie you and put you in." She went behind me and loosened the restraints. Then, she opened one of the panels like a door, and I stepped in. The tank was a little cramped, but it wasn't too bad. She shut the panel and locked it. "Have fun!" she chimed.
On the other side of the glass, the first one to enter the room was England. His eyes were reddened as tears trailed down his cheeks.
"Why? Why would you sacrifice yourself? You know I care too much about you to let you die like this!" he shouted.
"I thought that I could help you by dying. You'll be able to live through another trial and find a way to escape." I choked back the tears that threatened to spill. Even though I now know that my sacrifice is for nothing, I'd rather pretend to not know that.
"You didn't have to do that! You should have talked it out with me!"
"It's too late for that. At least my death won't be bad; I think drowning could be nice. Considering all the other deaths like starvation, impalement, and sleep deprivation, this is pretty tame."
More tears poured out. "I'm sorry I wasn't a good enough brother. I neglected you when you needed me most, and I am sorry."
"You don't need to apologize to me. It's fine. I would have died anyways, so I'm glad that I get to die for something useful."
A few of the other nations joined England on the other side of the fence. Some of them looked like they wanted to say something, especially America, but they stayed silent.
Finally, the water began to rise from the pores of the floor. I cracked a smile seeing it. I looked up and my smile dropped. England was bawling into America's shoulder while the other nations looked down mournfully.
"Hey, you don't need to cry for me!" I exclaimed. "You'll be just fine without me!"
England turned to look back at me. "No, it won't! How am I supposed to live on with you gone?!"
"I am useless, so stop worrying about me! This is what I wanted!" Nonetheless, he continued to cry. "Please, don't feel sad about my death."
America yelled, "You don't know how much you mean to us! Do you even realize that we've been fighting this whole time to protect you?"
"What?"
"We wanted to make sure you were safe, but now that's ruined."
The water slowly rose to my knees. My unnoticed tears began to drip off my face and blend into the water underneath. A pang of regret hit me. Oh god, what have I done.
Soon, the small trickle of tears erupted into a fountain. I could no longer hold back my tears, and the hot droplets kept flowing out endlessly.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, England!"
The water reached my waist level ever so slowly. My breaths came in rapidly in and out. With a sudden desperation, I struck the panel with my fists.
"I change my mind! I don't want to die!"
The lady standing in the corner said, "Sorry, it's a little too late for that. You should've thought things through more."
"Please, don't torture me anymore! Let me go!" I shrieked.
"The pain won't end until you die."
I shook my head. "There's got to be another way! Wouldn't you rather keep me around?! I know you would just love to toy with me some more!"
"I've gotten bored of you. You have no more purpose with me," she stated in a monotone voice.
"No, please! You can do whatever you want to me! Just don't let me die!"
As the water rose to my chest, I knew that she was right. The only way out is death. I did this to myself. I'm a selfish, worthless toy.
"Goodbye. I'm sorry I couldn't help all that much. I hope you'll be able to escape without me."
Finally, I crouched down so that I became engulfed in the water. A muffled scream came from the outside, but that doesn't matter anymore. In death, nothing ever matters. I'll be gone forever, but I'll be at peace.
I opened my eyes to take a final look at my surroundings. England was hitting the barrier, begging for me to come back to him. Everyone was screaming, but I'm sitting still. The water is so calm. Watching bubbles of my last breath of air floating to the surface was almost therapeutic.
As expected, my lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen. My body desperately wanted to rise up and take another breath, but I won't allow it. Instead of prolonging my death, I inhale and let the cool water fill my burning lungs.
Once I did that, my body seemed to go into survival mode. It rose to the top of the tank to take in any life-saving air it can get, but the tank was completely filled. I scratched the top panels senseless. The bottom of my nails hurt, and bits of blood arose from my worn fingers. In my dire search for a breath of oxygen, I hit the panels with all that I had. My lungs were burning and kept trying to push out the water, but the effort was only met with more water in my lungs. I tried to scream, but all that came out were meek bubbles that rose up and were lost in seconds.
Even though I hadn't been struggling for long, I already felt exhausted beyond belief. Maybe I would feel better if I closed my eyes. My eyelids are so droopy, so how could it be wrong?
I shut my tired eyes and let the darkness consume me. Why does this feel so right? It's like all the pain is going away for good. Before I knew it, I was dead.
-000-
Shooting out of bed, I take in a deep breath. It's just a dream; she can't hurt you anymore. The stench of nervous sweat floods my nostrils. I step out of bed and take off my clothes.
"Don't you know that giving me nightmares of my past makes me hate you even more?" I grumble.
"That's cute! You know, I really don't care about your feelings all that much. And it's not like you can get away from me. I'm going to possess you until you stop providing me with what I want, and you know that you'll die an agonizing death if I leave your body."
"I know, Mal. You tell me that all the time."
Malice, a.k.a. Mal, says, "I only remind you so that you know what's at stake. Even though you're dying no matter whether I had interfered or not, you know that my death would be so much worse than your puny little nation death."
"I wonder what it feels like to die as a nation. I've experienced plenty of temporary and permanent deaths over the years, though I've never felt myself dissolve. Do you think the watch would give me a restart after that?"
"I don't meddle with your weak magic charms. That's more of an Earthly person thing."
I look down at the golden pocket watch and open it up. The seconds hand continues to tick in sync with my nervous heartbeat. It's so weird how the seconds hand likes to do that. The other hands relate to all the timelines I've made, though this one ticks with me.
I close the pocket watch and mull over all the timelines I've caused from all my actions.
-000-
AN: Happy anniversary! I can't believe it's already been a year since I started writing this! This story has filled my thoughts for so long, yet it feels like time is going by too soon. As a special treat, this chapter is six thousand words! I think that's the most I've ever written for a chapter. Sorry I couldn't put this out yesterday on the actual anniversary, but for once in my sad life, I actually had a busy weekend. Though with the anniversary drawing to a close, I realize how slow this story has been progressing. I guess I should write more often… Anyways, I'll see ya in the next chapter!
