His name was Lovino.
He liked poetry.
Tennyson.
Shakespeare.
Edgar Allan Poe
All sorts of poetry.
He liked sitting and reading poetry. Lying back on the grass, watching the clouds, eating a tomato while reading poetry.
Tennyson.
Shakespeare.
Edgar Allan Poe.
All sorts.
Reciting them to himself. Enjoying the way it rolls around on his tongue. The words, they amazed him.
He had the greenest eyes. As green as the grass, as green as emeralds, as green as a leaf.
He was beautiful. He was smart. He was funny. He was good looking.
But he was unfortunate.
That day, that very day he fought with his parents, about college. They screamed at him, he screamed back. They tried negotiating with him, he wouldn't listen. He got mad, grabbed his Tennyson poetry and ran out of the door.
Ran.
As far as his legs could take him.
Passed that old bookshop with old Mr Baker.
Passed that pet shop with a collie staring at him, wagging its tail.
Passed the traffic lights.
Turned a corner to the left.
And he ran and ran and ran.
Until the air smelt different, the streets looked different, the people grew lesser and he stopped.
He stopped when he reached a small town.
A small town named Moonshine.
It sounded poetic, the name of the town.
The sky was dark above him, dark clouds rolling by and thunder sounded far away in the hills. He walked into the town and greeted by rows and rows of dilapidated buildings. From what looked like a barber shop to a small coffee shop. Everything was dark and broken. So broken that it would take a long time to fix it back again. Broken windows broken doors broken roofs and broken roads. Even the street lights were not working.
Lovino walked.
Lovino walked and walked and walked.
And noticed that there were no one there.
Not a single soul.
Except the cats.
Black cats.
Everywhere.
All staring at him with the most beautiful eyes.
Some with ruby red eyes, some with milky white. Some with lemon yellow some with ocean blue. Some with emerald green just like him and some with none.
He felt a shiver ran down his spine but he kept walking. It was like he was in a spell, he couldn't stop walking.
Walking and walking and the cats kept staring.
Staring and staring and Lovino kept walking.
He reached inside his pocket and touched the edge of the book. It calmed him down.
Poems always calm him down.
He continued to walk, the cats continued to stare.
There was something eerie and scary about this town.
Moonshine.
But Lovino wasn't afraid, he had Tennyson with him.
He eventually reached a cemetery.
The sign above was rusty and old. The Y on the word cemetery was missing so it looked like 'Cemeter'.
He walked into it. Careful not to step on graves of people lying there, resting.
He passed Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (1895-1915) with his grave full of ivies.
Poison ivies.
He passed the grave of Elizaveta Herdevary (1924 – 1956) with her cracked tombstone.
He passed Francis Bonnefoy (1881-1959) with his tombstone crooked.
He bowed at the dead when he passed their resting places and went off.
He reached a tree. An old tree on a small hill in the cemetery. It looked like it was burnt by fire, the branches and the bark were black like coal. No leaves on the tree. It looked like those trees in a horror movie.
He sat down and leaned against the tree, deciding to read his book right there on the hill with that tree and the cats staring.
The tree let out a small eerie groan like sound.
He shot up, muttering a small apology and lay on the ground.
The ground, there was no grass.
No flowers.
Just death.
Soil and rocks and pebbles that felt like death.
It was poking him on the back through his shirt.
The cats followed, staring at him.
On the trees, on the ground, on top of the tombstone.
With their beautiful beautiful eyes.
He looked up at the dark dark clouds and the dark dark sky and thought about his girlfriend's dark dark hair.
A cat, a male cat with black black fur walked up to him and sat down. Emerald green eyes piercing through his identical ones.
He smelt like death.
Of tortured souls.
Of grudge.
Lovino could feel his soul being tugged out of him, from his mouth, from his ears, from his nose. Inch by inch, slowly.
But he smiled and ignored the black black cat, ignored the feeling he was having and took out his book and began reading poetry to himself.
Reading, reciting, rolling the words on his tongue, like it was a ship and his tongue was the waves of the ocean.
Slowly.
Word by word.
Verse by verse.
Stanza by stanza.
He read.
All Things will Die
Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing
Under my eye;
Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing.
The cat crept up next to him. His black black fur against his skin.
He felt like death.
Like tortured souls.
Like grudge.
Like death.
Over the sky.
One after another the white clouds are fleeting;
Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating.
Lovino tried to pet him, but the hair on his back stood up in defense and he bit him on the finger.
Lovino winced.
He meowed.
He licked Lovino's fingers with his sandpaper tongue.
All the way to his wrist, to his elbow, to his shoulder, to his cheek, to his nose, to his lips, to his green green eyes and eventually he stopped licking him with his sandpaper tongue.
The cat climbed onto his chest. He stopped reading. He looked down into those green green eyes with his identical green green ones, only a shade lighter. Little pink tongue darted out and licked his own paws.
He didn't feel weight on his chest. Not even a bit.
It was like he was air. He was the air on top of Lovino's body.
He meowed.
Lovino stayed silent.
Continue, the black black cat said.
Full merrily;
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
Go on, the cat purred, lying down on his chest, grooming himself.
All things must die.
Spring will come never more.
O, vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call'd–we must go.
The black black cat purred and nuzzled his chest with his small pink nose, making small voices in the back of his throat.
Laid low, very low,
In the dark we must lie.
The merry glees are still;
The voice of the bird
Shall no more be heard,
Nor the wind on the hill.
O, misery!
Lovino stopped, the black black cat stopped.
Everything stopped. It was quiet, only the sounds of cats were heard.
Mewing, purring, scratching on the tree bark.
I have to go now, Lovino said, trying to stand up but the sharp pain on his chest stopped him.
He winced. The black black cat smirked.
He had dug his claws into his chest, small streams of blood oozed out, creating a small puddle of red on the ground.
No, you must stay, the cat said firmly, digging his claws deeper.
Stay and read to me.
Lovino lay back down, trying to ignore the pain on his chest while the black black cat licked the blood on his chest. His mouth stained red, and he licked the side of Lovino's face with his blood stained tongue.
He felt dizzy. His body felt empty. He felt Death.
Read to me, the cat demanded, his claws going deeper.
Hark! death is calling
While I speak to ye,
The jaw is falling,
The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;
Ice with the warm blood mixing;
The eyeballs fixing.
Nine times goes the passing bell:
Ye merry souls, farewell.
The old earth
Had a birth,
As all men know,
Long ago.
…
They stayed like this for days, weeks, months. Lovino didn't know anymore.
With Lovino reading the black black cat poems and the cat digging his claws into him whenever he tried to escape, tried to disobey the black black cat. The cut on his chest, it had gotten worse. It was infected, by bacterias, germs and all those microscopic creatures. The cut was deep. Very deep. As Lovino tried to run quiet a number of times.
He was hungry, he was thirsty. He was cold. He was tired.
The stones, the twigs, the rocks on the dying ground all piercing his back, making it bleed.
He missed his bed. He missed food. He missed his parents. He missed his home. He missed his girlfriend. He missed his stupid brother. He missed his tomato garden.
His mouth tired. His eyelids heavy. He didn't get enough sleep. He had read every poem in the book at least 3 times.
But the black black cat wanted him to read.
And the old earth must die.
So let the warm winds range,
And the blue wave beat the shore;
For even and morn
Ye will never see
Thro' eternity.
His lips were dry, cracked. He had no energy moving his lips. He survived by the black black cat feeding him blood and fur from other cats. His whole body hurt and it felt like he was missing a part of him.
His soul.
It was slowly drifting away.
Disappearing, dissolving into the wind.
Into death.
Why'd you stop?
The black black cat dug his claws in, deeper than before. Lovino tried to scream, but no sound came out for he was very very tired and upset.
And afraid.
Lovino could feel it.
Lovino could feel the black black cat's furry paws.
Lovino could feel the black black cat's furry paws on his lungs.
On his liver.
On his pancreas.
On his intestine.
On his heart.
He could feel him moving his paws around his insides, moving about, fishing for something.
Lovino squirmed in pain.
The cat kept on moving his paws.
It's time.
He gasped.
He purred in delight.
He pulled out something.
A moving thing.
A red one.
A slimy one.
His heart.
Lovino's still beating heart.
Lovino's eyes fell shut and his head lolled to one side.
Dead.
The black black cat let out a laugh which sounded like a meow and began to the heart.
A nibble at a time, letting the blood dripped down his chin while he fed on the organ.
The other cats gathered round, meowing, wanting a little bit of the fresh, still beating organ.
The black black cat hissed at the others and devoured the whole thing.
Then, the black black cat's black black fur began to fall off. Clumps by clumps.
He grew bigger.
He turned from black to skin coloured.
Paws disappeared,out came a pair of human hands, and human legs.
Small pink nose turned into a human nose.
Pointy ears disappeared.
In an instant, he turned into a man.
A handsome young man with brown almost black hair and beautiful emerald eyes.
He looked down at Lovino, at his dead body with his chest cut open and smirked.
Leaning down he kissed Lovino on the cheek.
He picked up the book and read the last part,
All things were born.
Ye will come never more,
For all things must die.
Including you my dear boy, he added.
He walked past the tombstones, the place where the dead rested and stopped at one particular one.
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (1895-1915)
I won't be needing this anymore, he smirked and kicked it down to the ground, threw back his head, and laughed.
All things will die - Alfred Lord Tennyson ( poem/all-things-will-die/)
I do not own Hetalia.