/This may seem not so Hetalia-related, or very vague, but I assure you it means something. I didn't see it at first too; I thought it was just something that my mind and hand collaborated on but didn't really mean anything, but a friend of mine convinced me otherwise. Well, whether or not you see the deeper meaning, I hope you enjoy this very short story. /
ENCOUNTERS
The raindrops fell heavily that one afternoon, the moss on the castle walls thickening as the water slid from them. A man sat looking out a window, wearing the castle guards' uniform of green and yellow, polishing his sword. He sighed heavily, his hand slowing and his back slumping. The man muttered something, but the rain drowned out his words.
"Did the rain make you sad, mister?" a high-pitched voice said and the man turned to look at the speaker. It was a boy in yellowed cotton breeches and shirt, his feet bare and his hair disordered. The man didn't speak for a moment, and the boy repeated his question.
"Did the rain make you sad, mister?"
The man sheathed his sword and said, "The rain is not enough to make a man sad."
"Did the rain and your sword make you sad, then?" the boy asked again.
The man smiled a little, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "Yes."
"It must be hard being a castle guard."
"No, all I do is sit here and look out for intruders. Though it very rarely happens."
The boy thought for a moment. "Mister, why did you let such things make you sad?"
The man sat staring at the boy. He stood up and faced a wall. The boy titled his head to the side but didn't say anything. The silence between them was filled with the patter of the raindrops as they fell on the castle roof.
"Do not despair, mister," the boy said. "You know you have nothing more to lose now."
The man turned to face the boy, but he was already gone.
He sighed for a second time that one afternoon, the fall of the rain in the background reducing in volume every second that passed. And this time, there was nothing to drown the man's words.
"Nothing more to lose, huh?" he mumbled, unsheathing his sword and polishing it again.
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* The boy is England and the man is an OC. :)
* You guys have thoughts on what the deeper meaning of this story is? Tell me.! I'd like to know how you interpreted this.
* To those who are reading my other story "Warmth Under the Snow", allow me to offer you my sincerest apologies. I haven't updated in a really long time. I was stumped with a ton of schoolwork that I didn't have time to write anymore, then I lost my muse. You read that right: I lost my muse. I don't know where he went, but suddenly, I just couldn't think of anything to write anymore. It's coming back to me little by little and I'm already starting on Chapter 9, so bear with me for another couple of days, or a week at most. Thanks for all the support, guys. I really appreciate it. :)
*/