Hetalia Shots!

Gloomy Sunday (PruHun/AusHun)

Warning:

The song I based this one-shot off of a song that was actually considered the most suicide inducing song, claiming to have caused 18 deaths (I actually don't believe that and actually felt that it was more circumstance)

Nevertheless, those who take issue and have serious triggers to suicide, failed relationships, and depression are advised not to read this.

I will repeat, those who take issue and have serious triggers to suicide, failed relationships, and depression should seriously not read this.

You have been warned.

Narrator's POV

On a sad Sunday with a hundred white flowers

I was waiting for you, my dear, with a church prayer

That dream-chasing Sunday morning

Gilbert stood at the altar, family and friends filled the aisles of the quaint but beautiful church.  Gilbert licked his lips, foot tapping as he looked around.

"Bruder,"  Ludwig said, snapping Gilbert from his thoughts.  "It is beginning to rain."  Gilbert looked out the window, seeing the rain falling from the once clear sky.

"Ja, but Elizabeta vas taking an awezome carriage here, so she von't be unawezomely vet."  Gilbert said, but still, a seed of worry was growing in his stomach, as the minutes ticked by, and the guests became restless.

Just as the guests were getting ready to leave, someone spotted the carriage coming.

Braving the rain with an umbrella, Gilbert went out and opened the door, only to see something that broke his heart; the carriage was empty.

No long flowing dress, no dolled up Elizabeta, no loving smile, no ring, no note; nothing.

Gilbert hung his head, letting the umbrella go with the wind, letting the rain soak him as realization dawned on everyone, their murmurs of pity falling on deaf ears.

The chariot of my sadness returned without you.

Ever since then, Sundays are always sad

Tears are my drink, and sorrow is my bread.

Sad Sunday.

The wedding was five months ago, yet still, every Sunday Gilbert dons his suit and goes to church, flowers in one hand, ring in the other, and waits till evening, when the friendly pastor tells him it is time to go.

Gilbert then does what he does every Sunday evening; drinks away his sorrow at the nearest bar, where the night ends with him stumbling home, sobbing blindly into his pillow, the flowers trampled on the ground while the ring sits by the windowsill, waiting for someone to wear it.

And the only ones who know of Gilbert's true pain are the friendly old pastor and Ludwig, his brother.

But it was the following Monday that made things worse.

While walking down a memorable street, Gilbert stopped, mouth agape.  For there, across the street was Elizabeta, only this time, instead of having her arm linked with Gilbert's as they looked at the cute things in windows, she had her arm linked to another's.