Canada wasn't sure what to make of the shadows that followed him.
He wasn't scared of ghosts like America, but nor did he revel in their company.
This, however, he soon learnt, this was not a ghost.
He could remember the first time he fully comprehended its existence. As he was making a cup of coffee, something out of the corner of his eye moved. Something large and black. Dismissing it, he had continued to pour the coffee until a large hand laid on his shoulder.
With a shout and a clatter, the shadow was gone, and his coffee was everywhere. And it only got worse.
It started showing up during meetings, hovering over his shoulder.
"England!" Matthew called, running after the man, "England, I think there's... a ghost following me," he confided quietly, pulling on his sleeve.
England had looked around and shook his head, "There's nothing there, Matthew, really."
And so he tried to ignore it. But the more he did, the more real this thing became, until it had a voice.
Everything was dark and quiet, and Kumajirou was snoozing at the foot of his bed when suddenly...
"Je suis ici."
Matthew had nearly screamed.
"What do you want!" he yelped, hiding underneath the covers, but the room had fallen silent.
"MOI" came the hiss in his ear a moment later, and Matthew's heart tried to escape through his mouth, but that was impossible, because his mouth was too full of his screams.
So now he sat at the foot of his bed, all lights on, six in the morning, wishing on the day so he could get dressed and leave this wretched house, the one that was filled with dark French utterences, that only intensified when he reached for the phone, coming closer and closer as his hands reached the receiver. God it was like the worst nightmare he'd ever had.
"C'EST VRAI."
Matthew screamed again, curse words circling in a mind that was otherwise devoid of rational thought.
The next day he looked shattered as he slumped into a seat next to America.
"Hey, Canada," Alfred asked, waving a hand in front of his face, "You ok?"
"Idiot!" France slapped Alfred's head with a newspaper, "Have you not heard?"
Matthew looked up, blinking tiredly, trying not to think unless...
"QU'EST-CE QUE C'EST? ILS ONT DIT..."
"Shut up!" Matthew screeched, sitting bolt upright and clutching his head in his hands.
Everyone at the meeting turned to look at him, a feeling that his stomach now hated. Along with his breakfast, he noted, before running off to throw up.
"Matthew?" Arthur called, pushing open the bathroom door.
Canada looked weak, skin pale under the bright light of the washroom, shuddering slightly and with dark circles under his eyes.
"Matthew, what's going on?" Arthur asked, kneeling beside him.
"There's something following me, Arthur," he whispered, looking around, "But.. but I don't know..."
"JE SAIS. TU NE SAIS PAS. MAIS JE SAIS."
He yelped and grabbed Arthur's arm, "Can't you hear it? Oh god, oh god," he repeated, shivering.
"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, and lo the hero appeared in the doorway, "Come on, pick him up, we're taking him home."
America nodded and scooped up his brother with little trouble.
"Arthur, no, put me down!" Matthew complained, shakily, "N-no! I can't go back there, it's there! It's everywhere!"
Once Matthew was settled, Alfred was able to voice his concerns.
"What's up with him then?" he asked, looking round the doorframe at Matthew's shaking form.
"I've only ever seen one other person deal with a revolution this badly, and that was Francis," Arthur said, cooly.
"What? Revolution? But I thought those were for like... I don't know, big countries," America asked and England rolled his eyes.
Matthew heard a snippet of their conversation, but tried not to think.
"Blue skies, blue skies," he repeated, fluffy clouds circling his vision, but they suddenly turned black, a murderous intent evident within their soft folds, and as if on cue, the voice, now much louder, boomed, "LE CIEL EST NOIR, MAINTENANT, CHER."
The next morning when Matthew awoke, he felt on top of the world. Everything was beautifully silent, and he found that he could think freely and easily, no longer at the mercy of what had obviously just been a figment of his imagination. Shadows were, once again, merely shadows, and sunshine had never felt better.
He pulled open the door to the meeting room with a smile, ready to announce to whoever wanted to listen, that he was much better, thank you.
But he stopped dead when he heard a voice. The countries surrounding where it came from stepped back and revealed a tall, muscular blonde with small glasses and a slight beard. He stared at Matthew with his almost black blue eyes, and tucked a small lock of light blonde hair behind his ear.
"Cher. So good of you to join us," the man smiled in a deep, husky tone.
"Matthew!" Alfred grinned, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders, "You never told us about this guy! He's awesome!"
"C'est vrai, il est... superb," Francis gushed.
"Je pense," the man laughed, "That he does not know me very well."
He strode over, making Canada step back in alarm, but his hand was grasped painfully tight, and his arm wrenched up and down in what could have been a handshake.
"It is a pleasure, Mattieu," the man leered at him, "Je m'appelle Québec."
Note! - Author!Anon is not the Potential!Author!Anon from comments situated above. Apologies to that Anon, I did not intend to steal, but I did not read the comments. Lazy ass that I am. Apologies to all.
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Tangible Ghosts [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-04-07 12:09 am (UTC)(link)He wasn't scared of ghosts like America, but nor did he revel in their company.
This, however, he soon learnt, this was not a ghost.
He could remember the first time he fully comprehended its existence. As he was making a cup of coffee, something out of the corner of his eye moved. Something large and black. Dismissing it, he had continued to pour the coffee until a large hand laid on his shoulder.
With a shout and a clatter, the shadow was gone, and his coffee was everywhere. And it only got worse.
It started showing up during meetings, hovering over his shoulder.
"England!" Matthew called, running after the man, "England, I think there's... a ghost following me," he confided quietly, pulling on his sleeve.
England had looked around and shook his head, "There's nothing there, Matthew, really."
And so he tried to ignore it. But the more he did, the more real this thing became, until it had a voice.
Everything was dark and quiet, and Kumajirou was snoozing at the foot of his bed when suddenly...
"Je suis ici."
Matthew had nearly screamed.
"What do you want!" he yelped, hiding underneath the covers, but the room had fallen silent.
"MOI" came the hiss in his ear a moment later, and Matthew's heart tried to escape through his mouth, but that was impossible, because his mouth was too full of his screams.
So now he sat at the foot of his bed, all lights on, six in the morning, wishing on the day so he could get dressed and leave this wretched house, the one that was filled with dark French utterences, that only intensified when he reached for the phone, coming closer and closer as his hands reached the receiver. God it was like the worst nightmare he'd ever had.
"C'EST VRAI."
Matthew screamed again, curse words circling in a mind that was otherwise devoid of rational thought.
The next day he looked shattered as he slumped into a seat next to America.
"Hey, Canada," Alfred asked, waving a hand in front of his face, "You ok?"
"Idiot!" France slapped Alfred's head with a newspaper, "Have you not heard?"
Matthew looked up, blinking tiredly, trying not to think unless...
"QU'EST-CE QUE C'EST? ILS ONT DIT..."
"Shut up!" Matthew screeched, sitting bolt upright and clutching his head in his hands.
Everyone at the meeting turned to look at him, a feeling that his stomach now hated. Along with his breakfast, he noted, before running off to throw up.
"Matthew?" Arthur called, pushing open the bathroom door.
Canada looked weak, skin pale under the bright light of the washroom, shuddering slightly and with dark circles under his eyes.
"Matthew, what's going on?" Arthur asked, kneeling beside him.
"There's something following me, Arthur," he whispered, looking around, "But.. but I don't know..."
"JE SAIS. TU NE SAIS PAS. MAIS JE SAIS."
He yelped and grabbed Arthur's arm, "Can't you hear it? Oh god, oh god," he repeated, shivering.
"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, and lo the hero appeared in the doorway, "Come on, pick him up, we're taking him home."
America nodded and scooped up his brother with little trouble.
"Arthur, no, put me down!" Matthew complained, shakily, "N-no! I can't go back there, it's there! It's everywhere!"
Once Matthew was settled, Alfred was able to voice his concerns.
"What's up with him then?" he asked, looking round the doorframe at Matthew's shaking form.
"I've only ever seen one other person deal with a revolution this badly, and that was Francis," Arthur said, cooly.
"What? Revolution? But I thought those were for like... I don't know, big countries," America asked and England rolled his eyes.
Matthew heard a snippet of their conversation, but tried not to think.
"Blue skies, blue skies," he repeated, fluffy clouds circling his vision, but they suddenly turned black, a murderous intent evident within their soft folds, and as if on cue, the voice, now much louder, boomed, "LE CIEL EST NOIR, MAINTENANT, CHER."
***
Tangible Ghosts [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-04-07 12:13 am (UTC)(link)He pulled open the door to the meeting room with a smile, ready to announce to whoever wanted to listen, that he was much better, thank you.
But he stopped dead when he heard a voice. The countries surrounding where it came from stepped back and revealed a tall, muscular blonde with small glasses and a slight beard. He stared at Matthew with his almost black blue eyes, and tucked a small lock of light blonde hair behind his ear.
"Cher. So good of you to join us," the man smiled in a deep, husky tone.
"Matthew!" Alfred grinned, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders, "You never told us about this guy! He's awesome!"
"C'est vrai, il est... superb," Francis gushed.
"Je pense," the man laughed, "That he does not know me very well."
He strode over, making Canada step back in alarm, but his hand was grasped painfully tight, and his arm wrenched up and down in what could have been a handshake.
"It is a pleasure, Mattieu," the man leered at him, "Je m'appelle Québec."
Urgh Anon failed so hard, apologies.
Re: Tangible Ghosts [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-04-07 12:18 am (UTC)(link)Not OP but soooo awesome!
(Anonymous) 2009-04-07 02:29 am (UTC)(link)Very good job
no subject
(Anonymous) 2009-04-07 08:39 pm (UTC)(link)Loved it.
Re: Tangible Ghosts [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-04-08 06:13 am (UTC)(link)XD omake cracklulz would be that Québec is noticed and Canada is -still- forgotten..
recaptcha: to violent EH?! >_O