If I Die Young
Request: PrussiaxReader (If I die young as song, Flashback to a MAD)
Written for: Kayla96
Warnings: -
It's R-12
People die; that's how the world works. Every day you can see it as soon as you read the headlines of the newspaper, or see the news on TV. Of course you feel bad, as soon as you see it. But, deep inside, aren't you glad it's not you? Can you really imagine how it would be if it was you're baby sister who was found abandoned and dead? Can you really say that it faces you so much that you want to change how the world goes? No, you can't. Because, no matter how horrible it is, you still cannot help but think, deep, deep down, that you're glad it's not your problem. And though it seems oh so cruel to be actually cold about it, it's how humans protect themselves from too much emotional pain. You shed tears for things you see in movies. But yet; could you ever imagining it really happen?
Of course not.
I couldn't do so, either.
Just now, now that it concerns the person who was closest to me; just now I can feel it. The depression, the sadness, the anger. All of it.
And, worst of all, I can't even cry.
Because she asked me not to; she knew it, I'm sure. I was just too blind to see it.
And that's why, today, I'm facing the worst that could happen. She's dead. And nobody can ever change that.
Even I, who always thought I'd be able to move mountains, can't do anything.
It's just now that I realize what a pathetic being I am.
After all, I am not more than a weak, pathetic fool.
After all, I am only Gilbert Beilschmidt.
And, after all, I am helpless.
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If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the word love song
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Such a beautiful spring day it was.
The mild wind made the warm day just perfect, the green grass was so soft, you immediately fell asleep. It was rare to have such wonderful days, and you almost regretted sleeping through it instead of enjoying it. On the other hand, sleeping probably wasn't the best word; more like, drowsing off. You could still here the buzzing bee and you could hear the approaching steps, but you were too lazy to open your eyes. Why? The day was just beautiful. And nobody would try to harm you in a park. Filled with people. There was no reason for worry and you were overall happy, so why even bother?
The steps came to a stop and whoever that was stood in front of the warm spring sun. You were about to complain as you felt a hand on your cheek. You startled but relaxed almost immediately. This scarred hand – you'd recognize it anywhere. Gilbert, Gilly, Gilbo – there was just that one person with a scar this big on his palm. And that the hand was so small just reassured you – after all, the two of you were only thirteen and still growing.
"What is he doing?" You thought confused, but you did not move. After all, he'd force you to play with him; and since he only wanted to play swordfight with his ridiculous wooden swords, you would make him think you slept. Easy as that; you just didn't feel like moving today.
You were surprised, though, that he didn't even try to wake you. He removed his hand, wordlessly, and did something he never did before: he gently began to play with your hair.
"What the –" You thought, deciding to wake up now; Gilbert was beginning to scare you, if only slightly.
You opened your eyes as if you only awoke from sleep now; Gilbert noticed and his face grew crimson within one second. He suddenly stood and, once again without saying a word, ran off.
You blinked once and then twice, not getting what was up with him. As you stood up, something fell out of your hair. You knelt to pick it up and stared in confusion.
A flower?
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Lord make me a rainbow,
I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colours
Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
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Emotionlessly you stared at the doctor, who wore the most pitying smile he could muster. The look of sympathy he sent you made it all worse, but why should he be able to tell? You looked so calm and collected, so un-faced. It was your mother who looked shell-shocked, who cried.
"Why?" She chanted between the sobs, uncontrollably shaking. You wanted to comfort her, but you couldn't. You felt cold, numb, dead.
The doctor probably was used to deliver bad tidings, yet he seemed to be sad about it too; obviously not too sad, but at least he seemed somewhat gloomy.
Glum thoughts, though, didn't even occur to you. Sure you were young and this was harsh but… Just now, you couldn't even cry for yourself. You felt as if it already happened; as if you didn't have time left.
But you still had time, right? You could still do something. You didn't have time for sadness; you had to be strong – for your mother.
"How much time have I left?"
"Three months, if you are lucky."
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The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
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With sixteen, life is only starting; at least that's what they said. For you, this would be the end.
Three months – if you are lucky.
What could one do in three months? Usually, you'd let the time pass mindlessly; but now it was different. You had only three months. And you didn't want to waste them.
You stopped doing homework – no time to waste with that. You stopped arguing with your family all the time – you wouldn't want to leave on bad terms. Even the girls at school you disliked got too see a nice side of you. Yet you tried to stay the same as far as possible. You didn't want your friends to know. You didn't want them sad. You didn't want to have them cry after you. You didn't even cry for yourself, so why should others?
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If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
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You sighted as you finally lay down in your bed. The whole day, you'd been reading books – books others gave to you over the years that you never read because you thought they were boring. Some were interesting, others not. But it felt great to get them all done. It felt great to know that you finally did something you had been trying to do for years.
Usually, you'd be lazy on the weekend. But you had so many things to do.
Sunday, you'd write letters. To everyone. Family, friends, foes. Everyone. Just to tell them that you valued them all, even if you sometimes didn't show it all too good. And you had to say sorry to your friends. For not telling them.
You did feel bad about that. But you didn't want them to be depressed because of you.
That would make you feel even more guilt…
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The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
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In your entire life you did things you were proud of and things you were not so proud of.
Most important, though, was that you didn't want to regret what you did. You wanted to be a good memory for others. And that's why you decided to volunteer wherever people needed help. In the afternoons, you helped out at the local kindergarten and you decided to sacrifice every second evening to volunteer at the retirement home. Three months were enough; you'd use them wisely. And the weekends you'd enjoy with your friends.
Show one last time what was important for you.
You'd say thank you more frequently.
And – most important – you'd finally tell Gilbert what was on you mind since age fourteen. It might have been a childish crush. But you still are a child and you'll die as one, so it's all you had.
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And I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger
I've never known the loving of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand
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Surprisingly, he reacted positive to your words. Held your hands, gave you a chaste kiss and hugged you close.
"I am so happy," He exclaimed, touched. "I love you too. And I'll never leave you. I promise."
You suddenly remembered that warm spring day, when he put these flowers so gently in your hair. It was only now that he was so gentle and chaste again.
"Gilbert…" You mumbled, slight guilt creeping into your thoughts. You brushed it away, though. There was nothing to change. You only could regret one single thing; that you never told him before. You wasted so much time – too much time. Precious time. And now, every second ticking by reminded you that the time you lost would never come back again. "How can you promise this?"
"I love you, that's why. I'll stay with you, forever."
And he sounded so sure, that your heart broke, you could almost hear the faint cracking.
"…W-why are you crying?"
"It's just," You sobbed. "That I am so happy right now, I could d – no, not die. But I am so happy I could just cry my heart out right now."
You didn't know whether this was a lie or not. Your head was just terribly empty.
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There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever
Who would have thought forever could be severed by
The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
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Every time he touched you, your skin tingled, put every time you also felt a pang of regret and a sting of conscience. You felt mean; staying silent about your own fate. But you didn't want to bother him with things that only should bother you. Death itself was hard enough. So why should he have to carry that burden before it even happened?
Exactly; there was no point in that. And just because you couldn't fully enjoy the time between the both of you, didn't mean he shouldn't be able to.
You'd silently savour the moments, so they could be buried with you. So you could die happy. As happy as death could be, anyways.
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So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
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If your friends were to describe the change of the last months, they'd probably say that you have been more adventurous. You used every opportunity life gave you and you encouraged your friends to do more things they'd never do otherwise.
Did the knowledge of your soon death actually make you happier?
Most certainly not. But you saw chances you never saw before. Ideas you had would now also be turned into reality as long as that was possible. Simply because; what could you possibly loose?
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A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singing
Funny, when you're dead how people start listening
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Was it cruel to write letters in order to say goodbye? The thing is, if a person dear to you died, you'd like to have something that reminded you of them.
You also wanted to show them how you felt about them. Who promised you that you wouldn't have a breakdown after all once you had to talk about it?
That being said; you had all of them done. Three of them held more than thousand words each, the rest barely held about one hundred. But these eleven ones, you knew, were for person that would deserve so many words more.
One for your mother, one for your father and one for your best friend. Basically, the people dearest to you. Just one was missing.
You sat in front of the paper, not knowing what to say. You knew what you wanted to say, yes. But how should you put it? He knew that you loved him more than everything else. He would be sad, no matter what you wrote to comfort him. So what could you say? You didn't want to write something that would make him feel guilty about his promised forever.
A single tear escaped your mask of strength. And then another. And then some more. You cried. Three months were over, you had been lucky. Yet, time's running but the person you loved most would have to go without proper goodbye.
Because, even though it was selfish, it hurt too much to write it down. You couldn't. Even though he deserved it the most.
It was just plainly impossible.
"Damn," You whispered shakily, sobbing. "Think of something, you little idiot."
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If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
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They say you see your whole life as a film when you die.
That's a lie. You couldn't see anything. It came fast and luckily painless.
And then, everything was just black. Just like that, a human life was wiped out, the only traces left were the official papers and the tears shed by the humans who had been close to you.
It's amazing to know that people will always vanish and die and yet it's only important for you when you know that person. Does it face you that every other second somewhere a person dies? Or does it face you more that every ten years a person close to you dies?
The funny thing is the dead person isn't faced at all.
After all, there are far worse things than dead.
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The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears; keep 'em in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them, oh
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Never, Gilbert would have thought he'd break a promise. And never had he thought he'd cry so openly in front of others.
But as he stood there in front of your coffin, he didn't feel like himself anymore at all.
You went, and with you there also went a piece of his heart, his soul.
And he felt lonely. Not just had you been his first and only love but also his only true friend. The person he opened up to.
One last time, his hand gently touched your hair, what was left from his heart filled with regrets and guilt.
He couldn't believe he actually broke his promise.
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The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time
So put on your best, boys
And I'll wear my pearls
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I still cannot believe it.
Can't believe she's gone.
Can't believe I didn't notice how strong she had changed.
Can't believe I broke my promise.
So that's why she cried as I promised that. She knew I wouldn't be able to keep it.
Does it make me a liar or her?
Maybe the both of us?
All I know is, that I will keep her parting present forever.
Others got letters; and they were surprised I didn't. But what she gave me tells me so much more. Tells me of her love, of how important I was to her.
It's a flower. The flower.
Our flower.