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Such a blatant, blatant lie.
England knows his dear Jack's real name. He was there when aristocratic hands, surgeon's hands, cut through delicate female flesh to reach innards, hot and steaming. England remembers the taste of fried human kidneys and the feel of intestines curling in his palms as he wrapped them around banisters like Christmas wreathes. Beautiful and warm the way ordinary decorations were not. He aided dear Jack...no he was Jack.
And at the same time he was also the poor girl laying on the floor, choking on air, trying to live. England remembers the feel of his insides being plucked out, hot and steaming. He was killer and victim, because both were English citizens, both were his and him all at once.
So twisted, so cruel.
England knows his dear Jack's real name. He dare not say it because he might summon the ghost to his side. England isn't sure if he would welcome dear twisted Jack...or run away screaming that the devil was there.
England and America seem to breed the most amount of serial killers, or at least known ones. None of the others say it to their faces, but the world knows that America picked up the habit from England the same way he picked up language and that terrible taste in food. And in that same old pattern that they had fallen into oh so long ago, America always speaks to England first with tears in his eyes and “murder” on his lips.
When America arrives at England's door, his hands bloodstained and his mouth twisted into that mad, mad smile, England always feels his heart stop.
It was like looking at a mirror.
So the elder lets the other in, and listens to the stories. America laughed madly, the sound shrill and cutting in the air, as he recounted how Edward Gein (or was it him, America?) cut open women and hung them up like slaughtered deer. Yet, he cried for the women (or was it him, America?) disemboweled and turned into trophies. Then America leaned in close, his lips brushing against the elder's ear, tear-stained lashes fluttering against cheeks, as he whispered sweetly about the great skill it took to turn human skin into lampshades and masks
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Japan knows quite a bit about fascination. Did Japan not have otaku? Japan remembers movies scattered about the floor, stacked up against the walls as a man, Tsutomu Miyazaki, wrung his deformed hands and watched flowers being carved out of flesh and blood, his heart desiring, no needing, to perform the task himself.
“Erika. Cold. Cough. Throat. Rest. Death.”
Did Japan not have the Otaku Murderer?
During World War II, Italy once came to Germany muttering madly about how prison was on his right hand, asylum to his left. Recognizing that mad gleam in the Italian's eyes, Germany allowed Italy the day off. It was the only time during the war that Germany felt frightened of his ally. Rather than taking the day off, Italy hovered protectively over one particular soldier during drill practice as the boy's mother, a Leonarda Cianciulli, hacked up her neighbors and boiled them down as cakes and soap. To this day, Cianciulli's pot is still on display at the capital, and Italy still remembers that sweet cake and soft, creamy soap.
Even quiet Canada is not immune to the darkness of his citizens. He comes to a meeting smelling of barnyards and red copper. The way he giggles and cries as he tells his brother about Robert Pickton feeding people to pigs and then pigs to people, forcibly reminds the others that once upon a time Canada was a shock trooper, the boogeyman, of the Great War. The northern Nation drags gory hands through wavy blond locks and asks why everyone is looking at him. It's strange for the others to notice him, and now that they do, Canada is a little frightened, like a child. And as he sits there at the table, tears and blood, killer and victim, all intermingling, the others remember that Canada is not quiet nor gentle nor kind.
Nations are not good people. Never, not in a million years.
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Jack the Ripper: Considered the first modern serial killer. Operated in 1888 in Whitechapel, a poor district in London, England. He was never caught and they still have no idea who he was. However, due to the nature of his crimes, it has been deduced that he was probably a nobleman with medical knowledge. Jack the Ripper was able to remove not only the intestines of his victims, but also the kidneys (which he claimed to have fried and eaten) indicating a knowledge of the human body since the kidneys are tricky to get to.
Edward Gein: Operated in 1950s in Plainfield, Wisconsin, the United States of America. Gein is not technically a serial killer, since he only is accused of killing 2 people (you need to kill at least 3 to be considered a serial killer) but he was the inspiration for several fictional serial killers, such as Norman Bates from Psycho. He was a grave robber, and made several trophies out of human remains, such as the mentioned lampshades and masks.
Tsutomu Miyazaki: Nicknamed the Otaku Murderer. Operated from 1988-1989 in Saitama Prefecture, Japan. He was a film fan, almost fanatical to the point of obsession, and when they searched his home, it was overflowing with tapes. Supposedly, he was inspired by the Japanese slasher film Flowers of Flesh and Blood of the Guinea Pig series. The quoted line in the story is from a postcard he sent to one of his victim's family.
Leonarda Cianciulli: Operated from 1939-1940 in Correggio, Italy. A very superstitious woman, she believed that when her son was sent to war that she had to make sacrifices to keep him safe. She killed 3 of her neighbors because of this. A fortune teller once told her that “prison was in (her) right hand, an insane asylum in the left.”
Robert Pickton: Operated from 1999-2002 in British Columbia, Canada. He worked as a pig farmer, and reportedly fed some of the remains of his victims to his animals. Of all the mentioned serial killers here, he is the only one still alive.
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with beautiful wording and pace, cruel and detached...
it was just perfect, and freaking and blood freezing. *shivers*
thank you anon, this was... utterly amazing.
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this is what nations are, after all. wow. just, wow.
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So true, when nations are also their people, as much as their people are the very essence of them. The part that strikes me most is that they're both killer and victim, both the same.
I remember reading up about the Otaku Murderer and man, that is just scary and sad. Well written~
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/not op.
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I just loved how chilling and gruesome the imagery was, and how creepy the nations were. I cringed at Canada's and Italy's stories the most.
Great job anon, thumbs up~
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Wow.
I'm not sure if you knew much of this before or did research for this fic, but as someone who researches killers I'm quite impressed.
... I really can't get that image of bloodstained nations out of my mind. I'll have to draw it. ... Man, I feel twisted now. Beautiful writing!
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And the picture you painted of the nations, half-crazed with blood and weeping, is so clear. I hesitate to use the word, but beside being frightening, your portrayal (especially of America) was almost seductive.
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Thank you so much, Anon! This is exactly how I see the Nations. As the sum of all of their citizens *Q*
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