So I wrote this in attempt to get me back on track with my other Hetalia stories since it's been far too long. I was preparing to write (while trying to jump over the writer's block hurdle) and I saw a little video on YouTube that inspired me called If I Die Young: Axis Powers Hetalia by Waving Flag and I just had to write this little bit.
Anyways, Characters are NOT mine, they belong to their creator respectfully. Hope you enjoy! ^~^
If America Died Young.
No.
No.
Why?
This couldn't happen.
He was so strong. So powerful.
"America!" a tear-filled voice cried out across the barren field, as trembling legs began to move, slowly at first but gained momentum with each passing step. The crunch of the dead grass beneath heavy feet echoed and reverberated against the smog covered night sky. Not a single star could escape the confines of these unnatural clouds, the moon, not full, but thought to be bright, denied gracing the dead field with its beauty.
This is a cursed land.
Pants from airless lungs became the only noise left as the blond figure drew nearer to the not yet grey slump that lied on the cold, cruel ground. The weeping body slid down to the heaving form beneath him, pulling him into his lap and caressing a head of golden locks that fanned over a bloodied face. Shaking fingers brushed aside the blond hair to stay deeply into dimmed, pale eyes. Cadaverous features blearily glanced up at the weeping man that held him, a weak smile gracing thin, pale pink lips, a ghost white hand slowly rising to caress the moistened cheek as fat tears continued to stream down from the depths of emerald orbs.
"H-hey Britain, how's it going?" his voice broke into a fit of coughs that subsided into very light laughter. Emerald eyes widened at the site of rusty red that recently appeared at the corner of the man's lips.
"You dolt. Why didn't you ask for help?! Why did you let things get this bad?" the man nearly exclaimed then quieted, shaking, trembling, trying with all his might to keep himself together, and he held on tighter to the fading boy in his arms. A boy. That was right. America was just a boy compared to the rest of the countries. Just a child learning to grow, he hadn't even lived long and now he was in this state, hanging on the edge of his short, inexperienced life.
"You know, your cheek feels like satin," he whispered.
Britain shook his head at the statement, trying hard to smile, to let the young man that it was going to be okay, that he wasn't mad, but his lips failed him and he wept harder, grasping onto the hand that weakly rested upon his cheek. Green eyes scanned the bleak form to see a pool of blood at his abdomen, a silver handle gleaming in the light of fires in the distance.
He looked up for a moment, he gazed at the havoc that resounded the country in shouting calls from across the dead field. The revolution had taken a deep-rooted hold that was tearing up their own land from the inside out. The British Empire could faintly hear the cries and agonized screams from where he and the dying country lied in the clearing, see the bright yellow, orange, and reds of the fires in the heart of the riots. This land was going under, and the country was going with it.
He glanced back down, bringing his trembling, cold hand to hang above the sheath's handle, before grasping it tightly. He turned to looked the young man deep in the eyes before he tore the knife from his frail body. A harsh gasp escaped his lips and the weeping man flinched at the sound.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
America wasn't suppose to go before him.
If only he had asked for assistance to calm his angered people, had gathered enough courage to fight the crumbling government that ruled him with an iron fist. Had properly collaborated with the fellow nation's to fix the growing crisis of the environment and the unbalanced teetering of the judicial system that governed such affairs.
It was all too late. And the earth was going to witness the fall of a once great nation.
Britain looked down, horrified at the shine of the knife held in his palm, blood-stained. He dropped it instantly in the dead grass. Dead, like the man before him will be.
"You're too young," he choked out, pulling the almost lifeless body to his quivering chest as both men gulped for air, both for different reasons, "Too young. I still remember when you were a little boy. When France and I first discovered you in that clearing. You are too young to die, America. You have so much more to see, so much more to experience. Please...please…" he whispered, breaking out into soft, weeping sobs.
"Britain," a soft voice spoke. Britain rose his head to look down into cerulean orbs, "It's okay. No one thought I would make it this far anyways, right? It's okay, I've managed to live a happy life, thanks to you, and the other nations. You raised me up from so little, you helped me become a large nation. You alone. Thank you, Britain. Thank you for letting me live." His voice was light and airy, full of happiness that the Brit was shocked to hear. After all that he was suffering from, he still managed to smile.
"Damn it America. How could you give up now? You can't die, not now, not like this. Fight, fight, it's what you're good at, right?" he begged, his heart clenched as he began to witness the country begin to slowly lose his strength, his once boundless energy being sucked from his vessel.
"Thank you, Britain. Thank you, Brother, no… Thank you, Father…" the form sucked in a sharp breath, pale blue eyes electrocuted with fear, scanning the night sky and then the Empire's features seeming lost, before falling limp in the lost man's arms, hand dropping from the only warm cheek in existence.
"America? America, come on, wake up. This isn't funny," he shook the weightless frame in his arms in a desperate attempt to rouse the man to life. "America, wake up… wake up.."
The man cried out. He had lost the one child he had raised. Lost the man before he could leave this world. He had died so young, by the hand of his own people.
America was no more.
How was that? Short I know, but I almost cried writing this. Don't know why... I would love to hear criticism on this so feel free to review!
I wrote this in mind with all of the things that are occurring in my dear country, America. It seems that no one can get along and it is truly heartbreaking. To those of you who are a part of the movements, riots, and defense to save those under harsh ruling, I implore you to remain peaceful and control your actions. Violence doesn't change the response you receive, if anything it hinders your cause (and kills poor America! ;_;). Remember to also take care of the earth! Recycle, sign petitions to save endangered wildlife, and just be a part of helping the community thrive. Please be safe out there and remember to love thy fellow man!
Thank you for reading! ^.^