She disliked him – no, she despised him. Even for him, hate was not a word she would use towards him. Hate, she would say, was reserved for his morals. What gave him the right to barge into her own home and enforce his own beliefs?
Nothing.
United States of America, The land of opportunity: Alfred F. Jones. He had so many names, so many identities. She had one: Vietnam.
Not even a name to call her own in the world of the humans... A lonely soul, she was.
It angered her.
She didn't understand why.
Was it because it was him?
Or because she felt inferior?
But there was that question; did nations have a soul? Or even a heart? Or was their heart a mix of their citizens' tremulous and ever changing thoughts and beliefs?
It was frustrating.
North Vietnam won. They had won. A small smile graced her lips. The fighting was over, and nothing could stop her.
Except for Alfred F. Jones.
He had stood before her then, with a defiant stance, and a cold, war weary gleam in his eye.
"Do you truly wish for it?"
She nodded. There was a tense silence before he spoke again.
"I do not want it, but my people want this conflict, this nightmare, to end," He met her eyes unwaveringly. "My troops are being evacuated."
"So they are," was her smooth, silk-like reply. "So be it, that one day, my people will rebuild this nations to what it was, and better.
They - no, we – will stand proud and let our culture flourish. Nothing can break us anymore, and there shall be no war, no conflict."
Alfred – America – The Man of Many Names nodded slowly. "And perhaps," He spoke slowly, as if contemplating. "Perhaps we can be friends, comrades, and...
Lovers."
She didn't know what he was thinking then, as he handed over one perfect rose. She took it delicately, mindful of the thorns and took in the sweet smell. Her eyes flicked down to the fragile petals then back up to cerulean eyes.
"Perhaps," was her only reply.
When she had awoken from her dream, she found herself glancing longingly out her window at the blue sky, and thought for quite some time.
Was it a long forgotten promise? Or maybe it was just a hope?
The questions from her dream came back not long after.
She loved him, no doubt. She, a third-world nation, was inferior to him, a super power. But when it came to hearts, both their citizens had strong pride for their country. So many people – even hers – come together in him to create who he is: diverse, strong, and free. That word. So pure... But even with freedom, is blood shed.
A sigh tumbled from her lips, and she rubbed her bleary eyes. "Perhaps" was not there or then.
If you looked in her small ornate box she kept at the foot of her bed, you would question her seemingly hatred and violence towards America. In it, she kept something dear to her heart. She had never shown it to a single soul – and would perhaps never will.
Her close secretary spotted Vietnam closing the lid sadly and wondered why it smelled so faintly of roses soon after.
-Fin-
I will be using my creative license here and being very vague. Very, very, vague. To my China because I know she loves USViet. -sighs- Soon, I will have an alternate ending with NO ROMANCE. Though, you could say it's one-sided USViet.
... And oTL, it's SO SHORT.
-K Z A E N-