[Fanfic] Condolences
(just the translated version of this one. Thanks to illucien for helping me out with the engrish <3)
Title: Condolences
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Austria/Hungary, Austria/Prussia and Prussia/Hungary. Or insinuations of.
Rating: R-15
Warning: Character death. Use of human names.
Summary: “I died in an accident a lifetime ago, it seems.”
I died in an accident two days ago.
Unrecognisable I was when they pulled me from the gears. I tried to breath, but all I inhaled was smoke. Dark and poisonous. And my lungs gave up. I tried to keep my eyes open after my angel. But all I could see was a blinding light. I did not know if the tones of red dancing before my eyes were from my blood or the fire burning furiously. And my eyelids closed. I tried to scream. For my life, for Elizaveta, for Gilbert.
And the last remnants of my life were gone at the same time my heart ceased to keeping beating.
…
Her eyes were red and swollen. And in those same eyes, there was tenderness. Even though this tenderness was towards a deformed corpse. The only sound heard there were from her hiccups. Until all the temporary silence was interrupted by bad sayings in a good and loud German. Gilbert screamed, even begged that someone would come to him say that all that scenery was a lie, that I would stand up from my coffin just like they expected.
He hasn’t been attended.
So the deafening silence came back together with Elizaveta’s tears. She prayed for one more chance, a single chance so she could say she loved me. Not to a corpse.
But to me.
She also hasn’t been attended.
…
I died in an accident three months ago.
They burned my remains until nothing else was left.
Ironic is the thought that the fire would consume me not only one, but twice. And the ashes, that one day were precious for me as my body, were thrown from the peak of Großglockner. Now I was the nothing, taken by the wind to nowhere. All my saying and thoughts, from someone I once was, were saved near my scores. Which were never browsed again.
Just like my piano that was never played again.
…
Gilbert rolled a knife between his fingers. Sometimes it would slip off his control and the colour of blood would paint his skin. The bruise would hurt less than expected, even when his salty tears touched the exposed bruise. He would whisper to himself that nothing would hurt as much as those ashes did. My ashes of nothing. And everything related to them or me were swallowed down his throat just like how beer burns with a bitter taste.
Elizaveta moved herself uneasy on the sheets. Dreaming of the firstborn we would have one day in her arms. In the next morning, she wouldn’t even remember with what she dreamt of.
Some evenings, one would be the company of the other. And together they watched homemade videos of ours. They would laugh in a tragic way to each moment shared on the screen by the three of us. And “Roderich” would become almost a mantra in the following hours.
…
I died in an accident four years ago.
My piano even untouched, remained impeccable. Few wasted their time mentioning my name and those who still did always referred to a Herr Edelstein. This name distinguished by the coldness of the formality I once vowed so much to be related to. Just like my memories which were faded to oblivion. Because the deceased, who become ashes, were nothing more than a stranger. The colour of the walls from the house I once called home has started to fade.
…
The door creaked when opened by Elizaveta. And the floor itself creaked being stepped on by Gilbert. The window which was once opened, brought to the house a fresh sunlight it hadn’t seen for a long time. Anyone could point their finger and say that house was definitely from a fool dead aristocrat with all those fool things he called belongings and the air of luxury impregnated on them. The luxury and the status were replaced by rust and dust.
Old photographs were passed one by one by my hungarian’s delicate fingers until she was done with all of them and thought out loud of the time when I was her lover. Walking by the corridors he reached the conference room, my Prussian asked himself what would I, Roderich, do now. The silence was his answer whilst Elizaveta came to his presence so they could gaze all of my efforts kept on the walls. Gilbert ended his habit of cursing that I strived so hard to help him avoid, in life. He, who said them all the time, ended up seeing his dirty words getting cleaned.
…
I died in an accident a lifetime ago, it seems.
It has been a decade, or two or three.
My destiny is like impossibility. Entwined to mere terrain questions.
Human ones. Just like those ones I care most.
My lover had her waist tangled by my lover’s arms.
Whilst they passed by the road where the end of my life began and the trespassing was almost inaudible.
Unlike me, my body and even my memory, my love kept itself very much alive.
And it seemed to be the protagonist, of the concert that was my life, who refused itself to leave the stage even when all of the lights were turned off and the curtains closed.
-x-
Once again, it was inspired by Vienna Teng’s song “Passage”.
Title: Condolences
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Austria/Hungary, Austria/Prussia and Prussia/Hungary. Or insinuations of.
Rating: R-15
Warning: Character death. Use of human names.
Summary: “I died in an accident a lifetime ago, it seems.”
I died in an accident two days ago.
Unrecognisable I was when they pulled me from the gears. I tried to breath, but all I inhaled was smoke. Dark and poisonous. And my lungs gave up. I tried to keep my eyes open after my angel. But all I could see was a blinding light. I did not know if the tones of red dancing before my eyes were from my blood or the fire burning furiously. And my eyelids closed. I tried to scream. For my life, for Elizaveta, for Gilbert.
And the last remnants of my life were gone at the same time my heart ceased to keeping beating.
…
Her eyes were red and swollen. And in those same eyes, there was tenderness. Even though this tenderness was towards a deformed corpse. The only sound heard there were from her hiccups. Until all the temporary silence was interrupted by bad sayings in a good and loud German. Gilbert screamed, even begged that someone would come to him say that all that scenery was a lie, that I would stand up from my coffin just like they expected.
He hasn’t been attended.
So the deafening silence came back together with Elizaveta’s tears. She prayed for one more chance, a single chance so she could say she loved me. Not to a corpse.
But to me.
She also hasn’t been attended.
…
I died in an accident three months ago.
They burned my remains until nothing else was left.
Ironic is the thought that the fire would consume me not only one, but twice. And the ashes, that one day were precious for me as my body, were thrown from the peak of Großglockner. Now I was the nothing, taken by the wind to nowhere. All my saying and thoughts, from someone I once was, were saved near my scores. Which were never browsed again.
Just like my piano that was never played again.
…
Gilbert rolled a knife between his fingers. Sometimes it would slip off his control and the colour of blood would paint his skin. The bruise would hurt less than expected, even when his salty tears touched the exposed bruise. He would whisper to himself that nothing would hurt as much as those ashes did. My ashes of nothing. And everything related to them or me were swallowed down his throat just like how beer burns with a bitter taste.
Elizaveta moved herself uneasy on the sheets. Dreaming of the firstborn we would have one day in her arms. In the next morning, she wouldn’t even remember with what she dreamt of.
Some evenings, one would be the company of the other. And together they watched homemade videos of ours. They would laugh in a tragic way to each moment shared on the screen by the three of us. And “Roderich” would become almost a mantra in the following hours.
…
I died in an accident four years ago.
My piano even untouched, remained impeccable. Few wasted their time mentioning my name and those who still did always referred to a Herr Edelstein. This name distinguished by the coldness of the formality I once vowed so much to be related to. Just like my memories which were faded to oblivion. Because the deceased, who become ashes, were nothing more than a stranger. The colour of the walls from the house I once called home has started to fade.
…
The door creaked when opened by Elizaveta. And the floor itself creaked being stepped on by Gilbert. The window which was once opened, brought to the house a fresh sunlight it hadn’t seen for a long time. Anyone could point their finger and say that house was definitely from a fool dead aristocrat with all those fool things he called belongings and the air of luxury impregnated on them. The luxury and the status were replaced by rust and dust.
Old photographs were passed one by one by my hungarian’s delicate fingers until she was done with all of them and thought out loud of the time when I was her lover. Walking by the corridors he reached the conference room, my Prussian asked himself what would I, Roderich, do now. The silence was his answer whilst Elizaveta came to his presence so they could gaze all of my efforts kept on the walls. Gilbert ended his habit of cursing that I strived so hard to help him avoid, in life. He, who said them all the time, ended up seeing his dirty words getting cleaned.
…
I died in an accident a lifetime ago, it seems.
It has been a decade, or two or three.
My destiny is like impossibility. Entwined to mere terrain questions.
Human ones. Just like those ones I care most.
My lover had her waist tangled by my lover’s arms.
Whilst they passed by the road where the end of my life began and the trespassing was almost inaudible.
Unlike me, my body and even my memory, my love kept itself very much alive.
And it seemed to be the protagonist, of the concert that was my life, who refused itself to leave the stage even when all of the lights were turned off and the curtains closed.
-x-
Once again, it was inspired by Vienna Teng’s song “Passage”.