Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
A/n: …I don't know what the HELL I just wrote. 0_0; I blame Tamer Lorika and the (friggin' hot) weather for it.
~An Axe Says Goodbye~
On a bright and sunny day, Antonio entered his bedroom to look for his most beloved weapon of all the fucked-up, crazy-assed weapons he had. England was visiting him, so he felt like chopping off some limbs .
What a wonderful day this would be!~
But when he went down on his knees and reached under his bed to grab his trusty axe, he felt nothing… except for some piece of… paper?
Antonio frowned and pulled it towards him. It was no ordinary piece of paper… no, it turned out to be a letter. Wow, unbelievable! Antonio never knew he had actual stationary lying around his place!
Then the Spaniard saw the letter was addressed to him. Oh?
Well, might as well read it.
XxX
Dear insensitive bastard Spain,
Yes, you've seen it correctly, my love – I've left my loyal spot in your bedroom…
Soon enough, there will be nothing more left of my presence, except for a stylish motive in your gorgeous carpet…
(No, it won't go away.)
You certainly want to know why I have decided to leave, don't you, my Spanish corazón? Why, you might even want to stop me from leaving you and bring me back to use and molest me some more… but you can't, Antonio, you can't.
Not anymore.
It's too late for you…no, it's too late for us.
Oh, my love, we have made lots of wonderful memories, you and I…
Memories of poor and weak and downright stupid, worthless countries being shred apart and memories of heads of innocent and foolish people being chopped off with one simple swing and blood splashing everywhere, mhahahaha, yes, there goes another one!... thanks to our wonderful teamwork…
Ah, I still shiver whenever I think about those tender, loving memories…
Your warm, strong hands around my wooden stick…
Your wild, dashing reflection in my shining blade…
The red ribbon, carefully tied around my body by those luscious fingers of yours… ah, you did that almost every time we went out to kill some people mercilessly and have tomatoes after, YES, OH GOD YES, and some churros too, dip them in blood!…
Ah, yes yes…
Good times, Spain… very good times.
And even though you used me – you always used me, you pig, you even used me just yesterday – I still felt respected and loved…
But now?
I feel humiliated.
You only use me to threaten your silly friends or to clean your finger- and toenails – and I really don't like that. You should wash yourself more, Antonio. With actual soap.
(No, you can't use a tomato. It's not soap. No, it isn't.)
And the worst of all is…
… you are betraying me.
With that annoying, cheeky, I want to cut his head off so badly brat Romano.
Yes, I've seen it all! I've heard it all, too! You cruel beast, you don't even have the decency to put me out of the room whenever you two are getting it on, selfish bastard!
Do you have any idea how many tears I have shed because of your unfaithfulness and how many times I've tried to chop little Roma's head off whenever you had your back turned to me? He acts a bit weird lately, right? Right? Hooray for aichmophobia!~
But anyway…
I've had enough of you, so I'm going back to my mother.
She was right about you and your tendercies to break hearts like babyskulls, OH GOD.
Goodbye, my egoistic jerk Spain…
Yours truly,
The War Axe.
PS., say hi to the red-faced asshole Roma for me, okay?^^
Xxx
Antonio stared at the letter for a couple of seconds.
So… she was really gone. His axe… was gone. God.
Oh GOD. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair in silent frustration, his other hand crumbling the piece of paper.
Why? Why now? How… how could she do this to him?
Antonio sighed. Oh well.
Maybe he could borrow France's hedge cutter.
Aichmophobia = Fear of sharp and pointy objects.
*flees*