DISCLAIMER : Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to the respectful owner, Dark Lord Himaruya.
Genre : Historical, Angst, Tragedy.
Warning : Rated T for colonialism, which might be sensitive for some readers. Contains way too many metaphors.
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"But Thou that know'st Love above interest or lust
Strew the Myrtle and Rose on this once belov'd dust
And shed one pious tear upon Jinny the Just
Tread soft on her grave, and do right to her honor
Let neither rude hand no ill tongue light upon her
Do all the small Favors that now can be done her."
- Matthew Prior
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The enemy wears blue, and she knows it.
The birds up in the skies will drop the seeds they were carrying, and the Earth will shake. Her heartland will shake, her people will die, but she will not budge. She will raise the sharpened green to attack the staring greens.
The staring greens are cold─shouldn't they be warmer instead? Cold makes no living; souls wither around its frost. But again, it is no different compared to the burning heat that scars her skin. She has burned her left hand to ashes, there is nothing left from the city. Just the screams of freedom independence liberty let us go and the cries of nonexistent cicadas.
The enemy will still wear the blue-white stripe even though she has ripped the blue apart from the red of blood and white of death, leaving only the sign of herself and the color of him losing. Just like her, the enemy doesn't budge. He wants her back, but the jasmine will not surrender to tulips anymore, oh no.
Evil tulips, the jasmine said, only the yellow ones seem to care. They would suck, suck, suck everything I have beneath me and leave me to wither and die. I will not die, and the sunflowers will help me.
The yellow tulips says nothing, they knew the day would come.
The sun rises and the shrill cries of cicadas dissipate. The girl, left hand now nothing but bones and blackened skin stands beneath the crepe myrtle tree. The tree welcomes her with its colorful flowers. No one knows she's there, but the enemy, whose hair reminds her of the colors of yellow tulips. She watches the enemy approaches, green eyes not as cold as the one he shows when people are around. The grass-colored eyes plead, and she knows what to say.
It all comes with a price; deaths, losses, fire, burns, and love.
"No."
The answer bears the current, the ones they have held back before. There is no turning back, no space for the growing thorny flowers of roses in their ribs but ice and fire. The streams that were hidden from everyone but both her enemy and herself break free, and they could bear no more.
The distance grows, as the silently witnessing lagerströme watch their hunched backs disappear, the flow drips to the ground, coming from the two pairs of eyes.
One are green and living and loving, the other are black, loathing, and burning. The blacks are soaked that they are sparkling, for the thorns of roses have cut her heart open.
- END
A/N: Just your usual short drabble. Rather, this is the first successful drabble I made. The burnt left hand is actually an implication of Bandung Lautan Api, and the title itself, Lagerstroemia or Lagerstrome is the genus name of crepe myrtle or Lagerstroemia indica. The original term of lagerstrome itself means 'bearing current'. Yellow tulips in the language of flowers mean unrequited love, as for the sunflower, it's actually an implication of Russia helping out Indonesia during her struggle of independence.
The part about ripping 'blue' apart is also a reference, where a woman in Surabaya ripped the red-white-blue flag of Netherlands on the top of a hotel in the midst of battle so that it's red and white, Indonesian's national flag. Shortly, this fic is about Netherlands asking Indonesia to give up to them in peace before the Dutch attack them again, between the First Dutch Military Aggression and the Second.