APH - Regrets

A pale hand smacked the table, his exhausted green eyes positioned on the wooden floor, "A shot of whiskey." The bartender looked up in surprise, taking in the man, his only customer at this moment, many of the others having left a couple hours ago. The man hadn't been in here in quite a while, but when he did come, he usually drank his weight in alcohol. Ahh, but he was one of his best customers, so he didn't mind...too much. The man always mumbled under his breath, whenever he got drunk, sometimes yelling rather loudly. It made him pity him a bit, but many other men here had done the same. People drank to forget, and to relieve their burdens, if only for a small amount of time. So the bartender wordlessly took out a whiskey bottle, pouring it for the man, hesitantly leaving the bottle.


The man mumbled a thanks, and something about putting this on his tab, before hastily gulping down the shot, almost flinching immediately afterwards, nearly smacking the shot down, and pouring himself another glass, and swallowing that shot faster than the last, continuing the cycle for quite a bit, the bartender shooting the man a sympathetic grimace before going back to cleaning the beer mugs. Suddenly the man spoke, and oddly, he spoke...years, "Seventeen s-seventy six, nineteen oh-one..." he mumbled, audibly though, his eyes on his shot glass, almost determinedly fixed on it, continuing on, "nineteen sixteen, nineteen nineteen, n-nineteen thirty one, nineteen fourty s-s-seven, nineteen sixty three--' He cut himself off, with a barely noticeable sound, almost a quiet gasp.


The bartender frowned, confused, intrigued. He vaguely remembered the first as being the American declaration of independence, 1901 being when Australia & 1931 when Canada was given independence...what did this have to do with the man in front of him. It had something to do with him, obviously, the notion being strengthened when their gazes met for less than a few seconds, but he saw the amount of pure psychological PAIN in his eyes, and the sheer weariness, as if he knew, he had seen, had experienced so much, so much more, beyond his years, burdening him incredibly. This unnerved the man, quite a bit, but he felt a compelling force, a curious feeling, leaning forward just a tad, to listen to his drunken talk. It wasn't the usual rambling or yelling, it was quiet...lamenting.


"H-how could I have let them go...?" he asked himself, in barely a murmur, his hand clenched into a fist, trembling ever so slightly, his lips mashed together, his gaze a wavering one, refusing to close his eyelids, to let them blink, in fear of spilling tears. He opened his mouth finally, letting out a ragged breath, and desperately cut it off with quick gulp of whiskey, sighing quietly, his hair falling over his eyes for a moment, shielding those curious green eyes from further inspection.


The man was getting increasingly curious, but refrained from asking what he was talking about. But other continued to talk, confusing him more, increasing his curiosity nevertheless. "W-why did I hurt them?" he mumbled to himself, looking down at his hands, with a weakly disgusted expression, knowing full well the pain he had inflicted on his former charges, wishing, praying, wanting more than anything to take it back, at this moment. But that was impossible, and he knew it was. And that killed him. "How could I have possibly..." A tear splashed down on the man's palm, his face showing how broken he felt, "I made them c-cry...why didn't I say something? Why didn't I DO something? Why?" He let out a sob, that wracked his body, burying his hands in his face, "Why couldn't have I understood their needs? Why couldn't have offered peace? Why am I such a fucking h-horrible person..?" And the tears came splashing down, as if a dam had been broken, and the water finally rushed through.

The man remained...almost vigilant.

He refused to sniffle, let out a clearing cough, did nothing to staunch these droplets, he simply let the tears flow, down his paled cheeks, which was already odd in it's own sense. Was he not supposed to have a flushed visage? But, this was only the tip of the iceberg, when it came to this odd, green eyed gentleman. The bartender decided he might've been a tad insane, with...grief. He felt a wave of sympathy once more, his eyes creased around the edges, in a frown.


The bartender's suspicions would have been reinforced, if he knew what was going on in the other's mind, what was going on behind those eyelids, now tightly closed, the tears coming at a gentler pace now. What the man named Arthur saw behind his eyelids was something that increased his melancholic mood. He saw the very people he had hurt, their faces tired and gaunt, their eyes wide, in disbelief, in shock. Some with tearful gazes, some with bruised faces, the pain clear on all their faces. And the scenes flashed inside his mind, Alfred standing before him, the young colonies looking at him sadly, he had loved them so, but treated them with complete unfairness, all those middle eastern colonies he angrily abused, Amira, whom had been named the crown jewel of his empire, he cared for, so much, but had hurt beyond belief, Steven and Matthew whom he had even neglected... How could HE have done this? How could he have inflicted so much grief, been the cause of so many tears, so many times? It pained him, and it pained him even more, when he remembered that he HADN'T realized at that time, that was he was doing was unjust, was cruel, was wrong. He justified his actions with fake excuses, to let himself sleep at night.


How could he have been so wrong?


The question plagued him for so long, so long. It was always his fault. And it was written down in history. Unjustifiable cruelty, towards those he had loved so much. He would never be able to forgive himself. Never.