Post by Deleted on Dec 25, 2016 12:47:47 GMT -5
Fall had finally tipped into winter, draping a gray blanket over the East German countryside.
Wind rustled the naked branches of the trees, creating an eery sound that could chill bones, and the ground was covered in a thin layer of frost. Snow would have been welcome to bring some light to the late winter afternoon, but in the sky heavy clouds loomed, dark and threatening of rain.
Gilbert Beilschmid wasn't mindful of the weather. He was walking with no destination in mind, nose buried deep in his leather-bound journal. Even in wartimes, he did not miss a single day, making sure to document his awesome thoughts and heroic achievements daily.
He never told anyone why he kept a journal, or why he had a blog – not even Ludwig knew. Most people assumed it was out of arrogance, of delusions of grandeur, which if you asked Gilbert weren't delusions. He was pretty damn grand. But his main reason for keeping a journal was so that history would not forget about him. If he disappeared one day, his journals would tell his awesome story. They could make a movie about him, a masterpiece that would win all the awards as long as India wasn't in charge of production.
These thoughts were running through his mind when the ground suddenly started shaking underneath him. He paused. "Earthquake?" Germany didn't get strong earthquakes. But it wasn't an earthquake, Gilbert realized with mild horror as the surface collapsed around him, dragging him down with it.
The sound of rocks and earth being swallowed down was deafening, but it was over quickly. He was miraculously alive, and mostly unscathed. The pieces of rock that had landed on him had not crushed any bones, only bruised him. Gilbert looked up, trying to estimate the depth of the sinkhole, but it was too dark to tell. Thankfully, he had a flashlight. He reached for his backpack, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for.
The sinkhole was deep. There was no way he could climb out. Gilbert felt panic slowly starting to creep up on him. "Help!" he shouted, hoping somebody would hear. He screamed himself hoarse, then resigned himself to the fact that he would be stuck down here for a long time. Maybe forever.
Hopefully somebody would come to his rescue, perhaps a nation able to sense his presence. Gilbert just hoped it would be a friend rather than a foe. He had left his gun at home.
With a deep sigh, he reached for his journal. The only reason he hadn't lost it was because he had been holding it tightly to his chest when he was pulled into the sinkhole. He had lost his pen, however. Gilbert took out a new one from his bag, aimed the light at the page and began writing:
If you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead. Mother Nature couldn't handle my awesomeness anymore. I'm so mighty that the ground literally opened up underneath my feet like a scene out of a movie. It was pretty awesome.
West, I leave Gilbird in your care. Take good care of him and don't let him eat Arthur's cooking. Also, don't let that freak Yao anywhere near him! And for the love of beer and wurst, please win the war. We can't lose three World Wars! That's embarrassing!
Feliciano, don't cry too much when I'm gone. I know how much you love me, how empty your life will feel without me in it. I leave you my portraits so you can gaze upon my handsome visage forever.
Francis, Antonio, you better not replace me with some loser! I leave you my beer stash. Drink irresponsibility.
Elizaveta, my dear man-woman. I would have been a much better lay than that frigid asshole Roderich and you know it! I leave you my sword – my actual sword from my time as the Teutonic Knights, not the monster sword between my legs (though I'm sure you would have preferred the latter).
Natalya, I'd offer you my sword as well but something tells me you'll be following me to the afterlife soon. I can give it to you then.
Alfred, the movie about my life better be awesome or I swear to Frederick I will haunt you!
Ivan, fuck you.
Alles Liebe,
Gilbert McAwesome Beilschmidt
Gilbert closed the journal, stroking the cover for a moment and smiling a little sadly. He would never admit it out loud, but he would actually miss them.
Wind rustled the naked branches of the trees, creating an eery sound that could chill bones, and the ground was covered in a thin layer of frost. Snow would have been welcome to bring some light to the late winter afternoon, but in the sky heavy clouds loomed, dark and threatening of rain.
Gilbert Beilschmid wasn't mindful of the weather. He was walking with no destination in mind, nose buried deep in his leather-bound journal. Even in wartimes, he did not miss a single day, making sure to document his awesome thoughts and heroic achievements daily.
He never told anyone why he kept a journal, or why he had a blog – not even Ludwig knew. Most people assumed it was out of arrogance, of delusions of grandeur, which if you asked Gilbert weren't delusions. He was pretty damn grand. But his main reason for keeping a journal was so that history would not forget about him. If he disappeared one day, his journals would tell his awesome story. They could make a movie about him, a masterpiece that would win all the awards as long as India wasn't in charge of production.
These thoughts were running through his mind when the ground suddenly started shaking underneath him. He paused. "Earthquake?" Germany didn't get strong earthquakes. But it wasn't an earthquake, Gilbert realized with mild horror as the surface collapsed around him, dragging him down with it.
The sound of rocks and earth being swallowed down was deafening, but it was over quickly. He was miraculously alive, and mostly unscathed. The pieces of rock that had landed on him had not crushed any bones, only bruised him. Gilbert looked up, trying to estimate the depth of the sinkhole, but it was too dark to tell. Thankfully, he had a flashlight. He reached for his backpack, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for.
The sinkhole was deep. There was no way he could climb out. Gilbert felt panic slowly starting to creep up on him. "Help!" he shouted, hoping somebody would hear. He screamed himself hoarse, then resigned himself to the fact that he would be stuck down here for a long time. Maybe forever.
Hopefully somebody would come to his rescue, perhaps a nation able to sense his presence. Gilbert just hoped it would be a friend rather than a foe. He had left his gun at home.
With a deep sigh, he reached for his journal. The only reason he hadn't lost it was because he had been holding it tightly to his chest when he was pulled into the sinkhole. He had lost his pen, however. Gilbert took out a new one from his bag, aimed the light at the page and began writing:
If you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead. Mother Nature couldn't handle my awesomeness anymore. I'm so mighty that the ground literally opened up underneath my feet like a scene out of a movie. It was pretty awesome.
West, I leave Gilbird in your care. Take good care of him and don't let him eat Arthur's cooking. Also, don't let that freak Yao anywhere near him! And for the love of beer and wurst, please win the war. We can't lose three World Wars! That's embarrassing!
Feliciano, don't cry too much when I'm gone. I know how much you love me, how empty your life will feel without me in it. I leave you my portraits so you can gaze upon my handsome visage forever.
Francis, Antonio, you better not replace me with some loser! I leave you my beer stash. Drink irresponsibility.
Elizaveta, my dear man-woman. I would have been a much better lay than that frigid asshole Roderich and you know it! I leave you my sword – my actual sword from my time as the Teutonic Knights, not the monster sword between my legs (though I'm sure you would have preferred the latter).
Natalya, I'd offer you my sword as well but something tells me you'll be following me to the afterlife soon. I can give it to you then.
Alfred, the movie about my life better be awesome or I swear to Frederick I will haunt you!
Ivan, fuck you.
Alles Liebe,
Gilbert McAwesome Beilschmidt
Gilbert closed the journal, stroking the cover for a moment and smiling a little sadly. He would never admit it out loud, but he would actually miss them.
Prussia being overdramatic as always! XD How much time has passed before he's found is up to you, though preferably longer than a day.