Disclaimer(Because everyone seems to have one...Even though we're all on a fanfic site and know that we don't own all the characters or anything. Except OCs, we own those.): I of course do not own Hetalia, or Prussia(Gilbert). That is all, nya~ ^-^

This is my first fanfic, or more like series of fanfics I should say. Depending on how reviews go I'll keep posting in this just random one-shot-like stories. "One-shot-like" because they won't be a very coherent long story, but they will take place in the same universe with the same characters, going through different parts of their lives, and possibly not even in order.

While writing this I was listening to watch?v=JRfuAukYTKg&feature=relmfu on repeat...I literally listened to it 60 times, no joke.

That is all! Enjoy! Or don't... It's whatever ya know~! ^-^

Blood that Lingers

The warm steel slipped from his numb fingers, sweat drops tried to match the firearm's speed to the tiled floor below. All he could hear was the blaring of Schubert's piano pulsing its way into his core, his fibers hummed with peaceful bliss. His mind was a mess of ideas, and the pristine walls of the cell was his canvas. Heavy chains burdened his wrists with their painful grasp, he paid them no mind though. His sole interest was in the masterpiece before him. Many would call him a "piece of work" and his real work a "sorrowful display of misplaced anger." A silver piece of hair drifted into his view, quickly to be pushed back, to be reunited with its kindred and staying in place with a mixture of blood and sweat.

Blood, sweat, and tears are what it took to make this seemingly random stroke of genius. Soon enough he found a frown tugging at his mouth, mentally remembering that he should be leaving. The bastard's reinforcements would be coming any second and he'd be caught in the same shit that he had been in no longer than two hours ago.

He ran for it, grabbing another handgun from where he had stuffed it between his pants and his back. Feeling warm steel in his hand the Prussian was filled with intense desire yet again, only this time to leave the hell-hole he had helped create. His legs propelled him away from his masterpiece of a room, onwards toward the life he had been ripped away from.

Drops of life were still making their way down the bleached walls, adding more depth to the picture. Handprints went up and down its interior, many streaked with unfeeling fingers trying to find purchase where there was none to be found. Sprinkles of crimson quickly dulling to brown decorated the flat ceiling. Ruby glaze was administered in uneven layers around the room. To the untrained eye it would be seen as carelessness, to a true artist it would be labeled as a unique placement of texture. The floor was not to be considered in this painting, blood pooled inartistically around the room like spilled paint. The three bodies whose lives were taken for the endeavor were scattered in random places. Next to the head of who was deemed to be in charge was the signature of the artist, along with a message to his real captor, "Sie sollten versuchen, härter, mich zu töten, wenn das ist Ihre wahre Absicht du Sohn einer Hündin. Der großartige Preußen"
You should try harder to kill me, if that's your real intention you son of a bitch. The awesome Prussia

That room would be a testament to his struggle. To his glory. To the Awesomeness that could only be Gilbert Beilschmidt.

So short... Review please and let me know what you think! It'll get happier once we get Mattie into the mix.