[APH] 17th of August
Characters: Prussia and Frederick the Great.
Warnings: ANGST
Summary: As regular as clockwork, heritage of a life devoted to the strictest military discipline, everything happens each seventeenth of August. A brief story focused in Prusia.
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Well, first of all: sorry if I made any mistake on this. English, as you may know, is not my first language and I just have some mistakes, so, if you find any of them, please tell me! This is a translation of my fic "17 de Agosto". I have quite a difficult writing style, so it's probable that I translated some sentences wrong, or they may sound weird like this. As I said before, if you tell me, I'd be so grateful.
Anyway... This was written specially for this day, and it's a very short story (of exactly 500 words) where I tried to just focus on Gilbert's feelings, leaving all actions aside, so it could be a bit confusing to read, maybe. Hope not!
Oh, another thing I want to point out is that I just think that the song "My Immortal" by Evanescence suits perfectly this fic and pairing in general. It just sums up perfectly Gilbert desolation... heartbreaking for sure.
And that's all, I guess. I hope you enjoy this, even though it's short and I may have made some spelling mistakes.
The characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz and his work Axis Powers Hetalia.
Reviews/criticisms/opinions are accepted!
I must admit there are many things I hate: I hate boredom, I hate waiting, I hate being lectured, I hate being all alone, I hate being controlled, I hate humans, I hate feeling ignored, I hate Russia and his crazy sister, I hate people who have pity for me, I hate depending on Germany, I hate being underestimated. But the thing I hate the most, even more than I hate that wretched Russian, is remembering you today. And it's impossible for me to avoid it, even though I hate it that much. In more than two hundred years I've been unable to learn how to prevent that sharp pain that in more than two hundred years I've been unable to solve. I don't even know what I consider myself to be, whether too stupid, too obstinate, too weak or too crazy to do something as simple as accepting you are no more by my side.
Because I'm able to get you off of my mind three hundred sixty four days a year, but there is always one unbearable day in which your memory, instead of making me smile, collapses me like a card tower. Because it's every seventeenth of August that I wake up recalling the horrific picture of your lifeless body in that armchair, and, just as vividly as it was back then, remember how I whispered your name, how I moved your body in search of any reaction, how I shouted that you just couldn't die, how I went totally crazy trying to wake you up from that eternal dream you fell in and, finally, how I let myself to the pain and I uttered the most distressed and inconsolable weeping I've ever deign to deliver. Dead, my leader, my master, my friend, my confidant, my emblem of my glory years, but, above all, even though no one knew, the only one I’ve ever loved in such a deep and horrible way.
That's why, in my worst moments of selfishness, I curse everything about you, including your mere existence, for causing me this searing and everlasting pain that, unlike my war wounds, no drug can calm down. And I curse my immortality too, that doesn't take pity on me enough to just let me rest in peace once and for all, that doesn't even let me dream in an ephemeral chimera where we are finally reunited once more wherever you are now. I curse, I curse and I keep on cursing as the bitter beer runs out, as my even more bitter tears well up steadily until they cloud my eyes so much I can't even see. And just like this, with all my defenses broken, as scattered on the floor as the broken glasses of empty bottles are, I collapse and surrender, unable or even willing to offer any resistance to your indelible memory, whispering, as if you could still hear me:
-Ich liebe dich. Ich liebe dich noch immer, Fritz.