Hello everyone! Kitty29 here with a oneshot written at 3 in the morning(Haven't done this is a while, feels nice).
This is what happens when you discover the snapped-Canada club on Deviantart lol.
Enjoy and please leave a review.
Canada enjoyed killing.
It was strange. A peaceful, tolerate country as sweet and loving as Canada enjoying something as dreadful as the murder of a human being. He himself didn't believe it sometimes but that was just the way he was. It was just the way he relaxed.
Some nations painted. Some had sex.
He killed.
He still remembered when he first killed a person. Everyone did. It was during war, a time when most persons were forced to kill another. It was a terrible experience. An experience that brought him many sleepless nights filled with horrifying nightmares. An experience that he never wished to repeat. However, it was after that event that he began to have...urges.
It was frightening. He was sick with himself for feeling such things but at the same time excited. Just thinking about it sent a electric pulse through his body. But he resisted. Pushed down his desires until they became nothing more than a persistent buzzing in the back of his skill. And there it stayed. Though as the decades passed the buzzing grew louder. More demanding. And one day he finally succumbed.
He wasn't sure what the final thing that brought him over the edge was exactly. Perhaps it was just that one extra person who ignored him. That one extra person that harmed him thinking he to be his ignorant neighbour. That one extra 'who' from the companion he spent his whole presence with. Whatever the case, that night he found himself luring a prostitute back to his house.
He could barely even think straight through the overwhelming excitement he felt as he drove. He was about to commit first degree murder. He was absolutely disgusted with himself. But everything about it just seemed so...erotic.
And dammit he enjoyed himself. He enjoyed every panic filled shrieking blood dripping second.
His body trembled with ecstasy when his knife pieced through the smooth skin. His heart skipped a beat when she tried to escape even with the crimson fluids flooding down her. Pleasure built inside him each time the sharp blade thrust inside the whore. His head buzzed in a blissful high when he cut up the corpse to transport. He shivered with delight when he dug the ditch out in the middle of no where. By the time her pieces were covered with dirt he found himself feeling complete.
Never had he felt so peaceful than he did at that moment. Never had that smile on his face been more genuine then it was in that moment. Never had he felt so spiritually, mentally, even sexually fulfilled and satisfied than in that moment. Never had he ever felt more like...more like...
More like Matthew Williams.
So he continued. Whenever being forgotten, mistaken, or ignored ever became to much, he would find a new victim. It was just the way he relaxed. Some nations painted. Some had sex. He killed.
Every moment of it released him from his life as Canada. From the finding of the people with no backgrounds to shovelling the last bit of dirt over their detached limbs.
Ding Dong
The cleaver paused mid swing as the warning bounced off the walls and into his ears. His mind snapped back into reality. That's right. His 'family' was coming over for lunch today. In all his excitement of running into the next victim the appointment had completely slipped his mind. He quickly threw the corpse into the now red bathtub and looked at himself in the mirror. Blood spatter marred his clothes and face but luckily not his hair. Cleaning would only take a few moments.
The ringing only increased tenfold as the clean Canadian made his way to the large oak doors. He unlocked and opened them, revealing the faces of those he grew up with.
"Hey Canada." The representation of America greeted before walking past the owner and into the house, not even waiting to be invited in.
"Canada," England greeted next with the slightest dip of his head. "It's nice to see you again lad." And just like America, he walked right past the blond and into the house.
Canada couldn't help the frown that came across his features when he glanced back at the two nations. It seemed that even politeness was only to be wasted upon him. He wished to be back upstairs with his bloody cleaver.
"Do not mind them." France smiled though it slipped a little when his eyes wondered down to his cheek. "Uh, Canada...you have something on your..."
Canad reached up and swiped the substance off his face.
Blood.
In his rush to clean himself up he missed it. He licked the substance off his hand with a smile. "Ketchup." He lied. He stepped aside. "Please, come in."
France mumbled his thanks as he did so. Canada locked the door behind him. He knew he would have to remain as neutral as possible to avoid suspicion. They didn't need to know about the body in the bath room. It was just the way he relaxed.
"Oh, don't use the upstairs bathroom, eh?" Some nations painted. "There's something wrong with the plumbing." Some had sex. "The bathtubs already over flooded."
Matthew Williams killed.