Forgive my rushed writing technique...
And my lack of the Word writing thingie... )X
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There was a time, Kiku remembered, when he went through a quite immature phase.
For awhile, he had stuck to the Bushido code, the code of the Samurai.
Kiku wasn't judgemental, you see, and he wasn't calling those who followed this code immature. He only meant himself, when he was much younger, when the country had first developed he way of the samurai in the 12th century.
This code called for frugality, loyalty, martial arts mastery, and honor unto death. Most men he had met that were samurai had followed this code, and he knew many that were wise and very strong. Most were good, despite some violent ways.
Kiku himself found himself following it soon after it was developed, and he was sorry to say that he never really followed it to the best of his ability.
Mostly, he killed.
Yes, Kiku Honda, a gentle, quiet man to most that have met him, had killed.
And not just killed.
He ripped people to shreds.
He never had understood it, and still doesn't to this very day. He just remembered a rush of adrenaline every time his blade would rip through a victim, be they innocent or not. Fire would surge through his veins when blood would spatter across his face in such a messy, paint-like matter.
He had killed so many. So many people.
His fellow men would stare at him, shake their heads. But, they didn't do anything about him. He was a country, after all, and all had been put under strict instructions not to harm, punish, and most definitely not kill him, for any wrong doings he had committed. And Kiku, in his immature, more cocky state, had loved that little piece of power he had above them. He was different, he was special. It was like being God, in a way, and he was disgusted that he had not been bothered by it at all back then.
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One day he was dragged from his constant violence to do some actual work as a country. His people had been wanting to trade with Greece for a few years, and his boss had ordered him to do it, to go along and survey everything. Kiku had agreed with some persuasion. He would be allowed to go away for a couple more years, on killing rampages. Those weren't the exact words, of course, but it was his definition, in his own mind.
And so, he had sat on a ship for months with about fifty other men, looking at nothing but an endless sea, unsatiable bloodlust coursing through him. He hated it, regretted that he had ever agreed, until he set eyes on the beaches of Greece.
People had rushed in to meet them, unloading and other necessary things, and Kiku remembered stepping off the wretched vessel and looking out at the land. Waving grasses, palm trees, and warm air surrounded him, and just for a moment, he felt peace.
All that ended, however, when he was whisked into work.
He did his work, like a regular man would, with a blank face, never breaking the fake persona he wore, while inside, that fire still raged inside him.
He hadn't killed for months, and it was driving him absolutely mad.
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One night, after quite a bit of wine and a little too much talk of war, when all of his suboordinates had fallen asleep, Kiku had slipped away from the building.
The fire was consuming him now, and he could feel his fingers full of it, itching to pull out a blade and just hack the nearest person he could find to pieces. He wanted to see the crimson war paint streak the ground of this all-too peaceful land and taint it. Taint it forever.
So he walked, far out from the town, because had he killed there, they would be the first blamed.
He decided to walk out into the country, kill someone no one would remember, or care about if they happened to be dead.
It was not long until he came to some old ruins, dirt and dust covering it. It wasn't a recent defeat of this place, so it seemed. He stared at them, and was faintly reminded of bones of the full moon's light fell pale on the old ruins. He stumbled over, and sat upon a flat rock that stuck up from the ground, fingering the blade in it's holster at his side. Even staring at the moon, as he did now, didn't stop that fire.
'Perhaps I have become an actual animal...' he mused, chuckling darkly to himself as he imagined himself as a predator, attacking prey with ease.
Rustling sounded from behind him.
In an instant, instinct took over, and he stood, hand on the blade at his side. He turned.
A boy, a young one, perhaps twelve or so stood there. His eyes were shaded with dark bangs, but Kiku could faintly see a shine in them. He stood there, holding a small cat in his arms. Kiku stared at him for a moment, then re-sheathed his sword.
"It's a bit late for one so young as you to be out..." He said, almost wincing at his terribly thick accent.
"It's a bit late for anyone to be out." The boy gently leaned down to put the cat on the ground, which leaped away. Kiku sighed, turning and sitting again.
"Go home. Bad things happen to children who go out at night." He mumbled, looking at his hands.
"Pardon me, but I should be the one telling you to leave."
"Oh? And why would that be?"
He heard the boy step a little closer, until he was almost directly beside him.
"You are sitting on my mother's ruins, and I doubt if she likes that." Kiku, confused, looked up at the kid in question, who wasn't looking at him, but out at the ruins.
"I'm Heracles, the nation of Greece." He looked down at Kiku then, and Kiku saw that the eyes were very green, like olives.
For a moment, the fire in Kiku's being felt as if it had been doused in water.
"You inhabit Japan, yes?"
Kiku stared some more, mesmorised by the eyes for a moment longer, until he came out of his trance.
"Ah..Yes."
Heracles sat beside him, clucking his tongue as the cat from earlier came back. It crawled into his lap, and Kiku marveled at the peace the younger nation seemed to radiate.
"So, Japan, may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why is it that you seemed like you were about to kill me?"
The words hit Kiku like a knife would, so that they almost hurt.
"I...Uh, it is instinct."
"Instinct?" Heracles seemed to think for a moment, petting the cat. "I don't think killing should ever be an instinct one gains." He rose, gently giving the cat to Kiku. Kiku stared at Heracles as the kid leant down and kissed his cheek, he wasn't used to such tender treatment. Heracles looked at him, then smiled serenely.
"I hope you find peace, Japan, and that you may be at peace when we meet again."
The young nation walked away then, into the dark woods behind the ruins.
Kiku sat, staring at the woods for hours longer, gently touching his cheek, faintly registering that the bloodlust he had felt for months, was completely gone.
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Now, centuries later, Kiku sat with Heracles, listening as Heracles talked about something.
He felt Heracles' larger fingers intertwined in his own, and was glad of the peace of he felt.
He was very glad he had met the younger nation, for had he never did, he might still be the terrible person he had become back then.
Very gently, he leaned up, kissing Heracles's cheek, who in response, looked down with mild suprise.
"What was that for?"
Kiku only smiled and looked out at the waving grasses and the ruins in front of him.
He preffered peace much more.
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A/N: Ah...forgive me for any time errors or anything of that sort. This was quite rushed, but I would appreciate knowing what you thought of it.
REVIEW. PLEASE. D: