For the fourth time, the playground school bell rang again. Most of the kids had dispersed from the scene that lays on the playground before them; others just stood and watched the adult cry over a fallen body on the ground. The teachers come over, some grabbing the children to come inside, some trying to get the broken man away from the small body. He shouts at them, whips his fists around, telling them to leave him and his child alone. They back off slowly and peer into the sky where they see the dark rain clouds coming towards them. How fitting for the weather to turn rainy when a small child lay dead on the playground where her father cries.

The teachers finally subside and go into the school, calling the parents of the children who are still alive and freaked out about losing a friend. They try to calm down the kids as best as they could, but couldn't as they too were about to break. How could someone kill an angel who didn't do a bad thing to the world? Why did she have to die? Why was she the one to get hit with the bullet when there were plenty others who also could've been hit? Her father was thinking the same things as his shaking figure wails.

The Frenchman who looks at his dead daughter, cries his eyes out and caresses her cold cheek. Looking down at her chest, he sees the wound where the bullet went in, killing his dear daughter. "Today was suppose to be a good day, mon cher, not a sad day." He says between his gasping breathe. Francis Bonnefoy, the Frenchman kneeling besides his only daughter, looks back earlier today, trying to see if anything was off during the day, but he couldn't think of anything. He cradles the girls head and cries some more. "Angie, mon petit ange, wake up, please." Angie, his daughter from Seychelles, lays unmoving in his arms, dead to the world. He won't believe anything about this sudden death; not one thing will convince him about this event happening.

"Has no one told you she's not breathing?" His head jerks up and his red eyes scan for the voice he heard. No one was there, but he did hear a voice. "Bonjour," said the voice again. He looks around again, still unable to find anyone, "I'm your mind, giving you someone to talk to. Bonjour."

Francis laughs bitterly at the voice. "I don't need someone to talk to. I need her to be alive!" His shout wavers as his voice falls back to wailing and crying. He waits for his mind to speak, but it stays mute, listening to the poor pitiful man cry. His body shakes again as drops of rain falls onto his body, making slight chills run up and down his body. The Frenchman blinks and stares at the sky, letting the rain wash his face from his salted tears. On his face is a frown that shows his sadness, and he suddenly thinks: If I smile and don't believe, soon I know I will wake from this dream.

He smiles. As he makes the little movement, the day turns from depressed and rainy to happy and sunny. Francis looks down as his arm is pulled and smiles at the small children around him. Yes, he's back to his beautiful life of being an elementary school teacher, and he's living with pure joy. His young daughter, Angie, comes up to him and hugs him with the smile that he loves to see. They laugh and go out side to play more on the playground. He looks at his surroundings, watching the precious children play with there friends, and smiles. This is the life I know and love. He may not be married, but Angie is the world to him; if she's happy, he's happy. Nothing else in the world matters to him, and no one has commented on his thinking; no one needs to when they see how much their relationship is. A true father and daughter relationship; a great family. This is my life.

"Is it?" The voice reverberated inside his head once again, making him blink. "Is this the life you live now?"

He scowls at the voice and answers with a simple "Oui". The voice chuckled. Francis soon realized this wasn't his life, but he didn't want it to be fixed to where he was back to his depressive, pitiful life again. "Don't try to fix me," he says to the voice, begging for his enjoyment and happiness in life, "I'm not broken. I swear it."

If the voice had a head, it'd be shaking. "Bonjour," it goes, "I'm the lie living for you, so you can hide." His peaceful world with his daughter still living stayed for a short time and soon disappeared. He was back to feeling the rain pour on his face. "Don't cry."

He instantly thought the voice was insane and trying to ruin his life. He looked around, then down, seeing his dead angel in his lap once again. His eyes began to water once again as he suddenly knows that he's not sleeping, and this isn't a dream; it's all real. He lost his daughter, the only precious thing in the world to him. With no reason at all, his daughter was dead, and his heart wrenched in pain every time he thought about it. "Pourquoi?" He leaned down for his fore head to touch his daughter's. "Pourquoi deviez-vous mourir?" He spoke in his language, and cried harder when his angel never answered. Her cold dead body just laid there in his arms with a small smile on her face.


Note: It's short and...I'm not going to say sweet because it's sad...really sad.

This story is based on the song called "Hello" by Evanescence. It's a good song and I got idea just today. It's a short story, but i...sort of like it. It gives me a break from all the romances that i still need to write -_- too busy.

Translations:

Mon ange - my angel

mon cher - my dear

Bonjour - hello (i think everyone knows that but still...)

Pourquoi - why

Pourquoi deviez-vous mourir - why did you have to die

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the songs by Evanescence, i just own the story.

Thanks for reading! R&R.