AN: If you don't do well with horror, gore, suicide, depression, and offensive terms, I suggest you leave now. This story will have plenty of that stuff. Also, this is 2p!Hetalia, not regular Hetalia, so the characters will have different qualities, MUCH different qualities. Although I did deviate from the 2p personalities quite a bit, so yes, OOC. It's going to be hella confusing from here on out, just warning you, but it should make at least a smidgen of sense by the end. I do not own Hetalia, or The Cat Lady. So, shall we begin?
"My name is Arthur Kirkland. I live alone in this two-bedroom flat, and I rarely go outside to say hello like I used to."
I stared dully at the wall clock as I wrote this, my vision betraying the will to. The cat's tail swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...
"Some would say it's a lonely life, and I guess that's true, but I just don't like other peoples' company. Not lately, anyway."
The minute hand of the clock moved ever-so-slightly. The little patched Scottish fold resting on my bed pawed at my hand, glaring up at me accusingly. He swished his cottony tail and blinked his little green eyes.
"I only trust my cats these days, and I will miss them dearly. But they will understand, like they always have..."
I scratched his floppy little ear.
"Teacup stays with me 'till the end. He watches me, as if he knew..."
Teacup moved from his spot on my bed, and leaped up onto my piano, striking a few high-pitched notes in the process. He shallowly jumped to the top, sitting and staring at me again. It seemed he didn't want my affection at that moment.
"Because... earlier tonight, I swallowed a whole bunch of pills. They're legal, of course. Prescribed by my doctor for mood swings. But I've taken thirty-four of them. All I could find in the cupboard... and now the room around me spins in a blurry tango as my heart slows down."
A moth flitted at the window, its wings beating the glass in a startling sound. The dirty plate I had just used now sat near, with useless crumbs littering its surface in different constellations and sizes. The moth flew away as it noticed my dizzy presence, panicking away from me, as if I were some kind of monster.
"Any second now, I will be dead. I feel calm, I'm ready for it. I've only got one thing to say now."
The ballpoint pen made a rolling sound through the crinkled paper I was using. It protested as my writing became stranger, and less focused. The dim light fixture above me cast everything in an ugly yellow.
"Thanks for nothing. Goodbye."