A Slant of Grey
I sat alone in my home reading a novel I have browsed many a time before, sipping a lukewarm cup of earl grey. I sighed weakly to myself musing in my own thoughts. Remembering when I was a young boy running the hills with my magic friends. Then older I became riding my horse in place of uni.
I met France one day in the valley, the sun held low in the sky clinging to the withering day. As I bent to grab my reins from the emerald grass a voice came from a few meters away from my place.
"Bonjour!" I spin on my heels and look over the strange boy. He seemed to be older than me, but not by much. On his feet he wore black boots with shining toes. His trousers were blue as was his coat. Golden curls rested on his shoulders red highlights formed from the setting suns rays. he possessed eyes more blue than the faes or the sky itself held. I smiled at him warmly.
"who are you?" inquiring as I set my reins within my pocket. He held out his hand to me open.
"I am France. I am sorry if my English no good. I just learn from my king." I laugh at his small mistakes and thick accent.
"Well hello France! My name is Britain. It's nice to meet you, if you wish I can help you with your English." He nodded so enthusiastically, and as I held out my hand to him he shook it.
Over all these years we had fought yes. We had hated each other at some points. But I cannot ever count the days we sat in my home. He made me his French food. I helped him with his hair forever long as his neck. I had spent many an hour on this very couch with him reading as he played with my shaggy locks. I sighed as a warm droplet of sadness hit my page.
Why did he have to die on me?