Schlaf, Kindlein, Schlaf

Sleep, Baby, Sleep

Dear Diary.

Today I died.

It all started with him being way too nice for my general comfort.

"Please do have a seat. I'd love the company."

It was a little strange, being invited with such open arms into the man's house. Usually he would be sternly shooed away or given 'one last warning' which would soon turn into one more warning and one more warning until he was losing track of just how many last warnings he had given. But today was different, and the rare smile brightening those all-too-serious features was almost unnerving enough to make him turn around and run off. Yet he didn't, and why he didn't take that chance then and there was for some bizarre reason he would never get the chance to understand. Instead he nodded pridefully, plopping down lazily on the couch and kicking his dirty shoes up onto the table. Not a single complaint fell from the neat-freak's lips. He was starting to wonder if the guy was dying.

"Wassup with you today?" he questioned, quirking an eyebrow. The younger batted his eyes at him, as if unsure of what he was talking about. Oh, please. "You're being nice. Don't make me have to spell it out for you."

"Ah, that," he agreed, taking a seat beside the albino. "I'm in a good mood. Is that such a crime?" The word 'crime' had some sort of venom behind it. Some sort of venom that Gilbert was too distracted to taste, to smell, to notice and get the hell away from.

"Guess not," he said instead with a shrug.

"I was also wondering if you'd like to go out for a stroll around the neighborhood."

"Dude, you don't live in a neighborhood. Your house is literally in the middle of nowhere, and I swear those dogs I keep hearing in those woods are wolves."

It was kind of strange because he's always so stuck-up and arrogant. But I dealt with it because, well, he didn't seem all that bad suddenly. I don't know how or why it worked like that, but it did.

"That doesn't matter," he assured him in a tone that should have screamed 'get out, get out, he has a plan'. Gilbert only shrugged, standing and making his way to the door. He didn't notice the gleam in his friend's eye and the matching gleam peeking out from his coat pocket as he stepped forward to open the door for him. A few moments passed in silence as they walked and walked and walked, far enough that no one else could hear the forest's wolves howl, much less a dead man's silent scream. And then the man reached into his pocket, the same spark returning to his eyes.

 I'm such an idiot. I really shouldn't have bothered him so insistently.. should have left him be all those times before.

"So how are you?" he asked, looking up into ruby eyes.

"Fine. You?"

"Wonderful. About to be even better."

"What? You know, if you're about to ask me out, I understand 'cuz I'm so awesome but-"

It all happened so fast that I didn't really have time to do much anything about it.

And then he lunged, blade ripping a small tear into his own pocket due to how quickly and carelessly he slashed through it, barely yet purposefully missing his partner's heart during the attack. He watched with satisfaction as the man fell to the ground with a loud but muffled cry, one hand covering his mouth and the other clutching at his wound, eyes darting hazily between the sky and the ground and his own pitiful, dying self and his offender. What he supposed was a farewell(it was hard to tell, as his senses were quickly numbing) was whispered into the Prussian's ear as his paling, twitching, bloodied face was caressed by a warm hand. Oh, how he needed that warmth. So badly, so badly, so-

And then it all went black.

If you're reading this, please don't be afraid. There are no such thing as ghosts. But then how is a dead man writing this, you ask?

The blade dropped and the scene's lone survivor walked off, whistling to himself a familiar tune.

A dead man's not.

"That was a lovely sound you made there, liebling; a perfect F sharp."

~Roderich Edelstein