Still don't own Hetalia.
Saturday 26th March 2013
I don't know where to start.
I guess I should tell you that not everyone is dead. Many are.
To name a few: Alejandro Cabrera the nation of Mexico, Alastair Mackenzie the nation of Scotland, Asal Amirkhani the nation of Iran, Oscar Kirkland the nation of Australia, Valkien the nation of Romania, Michelle the nation of Seychelles…
Giovanni Vargas the micro-nation of Seborga. Most of the others were shot. Well he was shot but by his own cousin because he had been bitten, not by Security like the rest of them. Remember that orientation I mentioned they said they would hold towards the start of our siege? They finally held it on the sixth floor where apparently there was a briefing hall big enough to accommodate everyone. Anyone who is alive right now missed it and survived what followed thanks to selfless sacrifice, team work, pure adrenaline and a disgustingly disproportionate amount of luck.
I'll be honest: I don't think I have the right to be alive currently. But I am. Believe me I will not waste my second batch of good luck by sinking into a bog of self-pity. I'm done with that. Anyone who wants to escape this school has to pull their head out of their ass and face the facts.
You know what? I have killed five people since we last met. Some with my bare hands and others with borrowed weapons. I am prepared to do it again. Honestly I am now.
I've had my wake-up call. I have to apologise for the whining moron who has been your companion up to this point, who took out his anger and fear on his peers and surroundings and allowed his friends to be hurt. Who swore he would start to face up to the facts and never did.
To be honest, I haven't killed five people. I have killed six. The old Alfred is one of those people. I won't miss him.
Goodbye old Alfred! May you be wrapped in duct tape, buried under a mile of stone and slowly devoured by a subterranean race of blind elves.
I'll start by telling you what was in the boxes. If the world you live in is as brutal as mine has become, then you shouldn't have to stretch your imagination too far. Kiku and I brought back Liz and Mei with us to investigate. Liz because she's good in a crisis and Mei because she literally twisted Kiku's arm until he admitted the secret she could tell he was hiding. Returning at night, we dodged around a couple of patrolling Matrons, arriving undetected. There were never any guards posted at any point in the day or the night. Security must have trusted our fear to keep us in our beds at night.
When we came to the sixth store room the girls' faces crumpled against the smells of the air fresheners. Kiku passed out surgical masks to help against the smell he had 'borrowed' from the med-bay under the pretence of helping Sadie organise the medicine cabinets.
Liz picked up a box from the top of one of the lower stacks and was almost brought to her knees by its weight. I helped her lower it carefully and noticed for the first time the box was wrapped up in industrial-strength tape, from corner to corner so there was barely an two inches of the box's surface not draped in tape. I had really begun to question the decision to come back, but there was no way to retreat then without becoming a less-reliable person in my friends' eyes. But I was still scared silly. Understandably of course. I was about to sneakily suggest as we had no way to break the seal of tape on the box we should leave and come back later, more prepared with more people when Mei brought out a knife from her tights and slit the bindings open.
I resigned myself to the task one final time and helped her peel back the layer. Around the seam where the box opened, the hinges were glued shut by a hastily applied coat of what was probably super-glue. Mei jimmied her blade in between the plastic and the glue. She made a gap from which she sawed the glue away. A pile of shavings collected at her feet. Liz swept those into a gap between stacks.
The glue was gone after a minute's work. As the glue had been hacked away, a putrid odour had come stealing out of the container and mixed with the cloud of air fresheners. I had smelled it before, but a little bit worse and a lot more subtle, like just a hint of perfume lost in a fog of stinking chemicals.
Kiku placed his hands on the lid of the box. I did the same. We prepared to lift the lid together, both drawing a deep breath I regretted because I could now taste the smell. Suddenly Liz slapped it shut.
"We don't need to. We know what is inside." her eyes were frightened "Let's just go. I don't want to see it."
Mei shook her head "This is definite proof of the boys' fears Liz, we need to know how- how…"
"It ended." I finished.
She nodded mutely.
"Boxes sealed with tape and glue, stuffed in a room the students never go. We don't need to look onee-chan." Kiku's hands fell to his sides.
I whipped mine away like the box lid was on fire.
"It's proved. We're gonna be killed." I said and stood up "Let's show the others and get ready to go as soon as possible."
Wait. I'm being called. Sounds like there's some trouble at the perimeter, I have to go now but I will finish this record as soon as I can.
Quick a/n here.
I'm sorry I left it on such a bad cliff hanger but I haven't had the time to write a longer entry with the final English exam lurking in tomorrow's timetable, so I'll say goodbye here and I promise a longer more satisfying entry next week.
Also out of the cast of people who have managed to scrape through the fight who have not yet been listed as dead, I would like to know whom the readership would miss the most should they die. Soon they guys will be forced into worse and worse scenarios and not everyone will make it out alive. With your opinions it will help me make a more informed decision as to who is gonna take a dirt nap.
I know it's a weird request asking who I should kill. I really would like to hear who the most valued characters are right now so I don't end up making a terrible mistake and upsetting you guys. So leave it in a review if you have anything to say about the subject.
Also I lied. That was not a quick a/n.