A/N: Sup guys? Since I am not well-acquainted with the publishing system in this site, I'm having a bit of publishing-problems so bear with me! But worry not! I am learning bit by bit.
I am kinda new here so I'm having troubles with the system going on here... ((Then maybe after getting used to it, I maybe procrastinating again)) But I'll avoid that ((probably)). I've seen so many fanfics of Hetalia and why not do a fanfic too with some mystery? If anything goes off or OOC, my deepest apologies ((Point it out to me and I'll try not doing it again to the next chapters.)) I don't own Hetalia nor the poem nor some places mentioned here only the OCs and plot are mine! So sit back and relax, prepare a cup of tea/soda/coffee/whatever beverage with a snack and enjoy!
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,
with my little eye,
I saw him die.
Who caught his blood?
I, said the Fish,
with my little dish,
I caught his blood.
Who'll make the shroud?
I, said the Beetle,
with my thread and needle,
I'll make the shroud.
Who'll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,
with my pick and shovel,
I'll dig his grave.
Who'll be the parson?
I, said the Rook,
with my little book,
I'll be the parson.
Who'll be the clerk?
I, said the Lark,
if it's not in the dark,
I'll be the clerk.
Who'll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,
I'll fetch it in a minute,
I'll carry the link.
Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
I mourn for my love,
I'll be chief mourner.
Who'll carry the coffin?
I, said the Kite,
if it's not through the night,
I'll carry the coffin.
Who'll bear the pall?
We, said the Wren,
both the cock and the hen,
We'll bear the pall.
Who'll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
as she sat on a bush,
I'll sing a psalm.
Who'll toll the bell?
I said the Bull,
because I can pull,
I'll toll the bell.
All the birds of the airfell a-sighing and a-sobbing, when they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.
Nigel's POV
*Ahem* I am Nigel Parkinson, Director of the Mercury Gazette after I threw Willard James, the former director, out of his place and now it's rightfully mine. Mercury Gazette is MY newspaper company hence, the names "Mercury" which is the messenger god known for his intellect and "gazette" meaning newspaper. But then, all my glorious achievements were all put to trash as I was killed... This is my story...
{April 24, 9:50 PM
Rm. 412, Dandelion Apartment
London, England}
A knock on the door was heard. Opening, it revealed a young woman.
"Good evening, Mr. Parkinson." The woman greeted. The woman looked around his 20's.
"Good evening to you too. You must be...?" Nigel scratched his neck as the woman tightened her grip on the papers.
"I was the one who submitted my résumé to you and you asked me to come here at 21:45." The woman looked at her watched.
"Ah right. You're already late! Why would you be this late?!"
The woman apologized. "If I'm going to forgive you and your tardiness, you must serve me!" I yelled at her.
The woman nodded and entered my apartment. She observed the structure of my apartment. "Did you brought the documents?"
Looking at her, she nodded. "Make me some tea!" I shouted at her. She went to the kitchen and made tea. 'Looks like I'm going to have some fun tonight...' Looking at my watch, it was already 21:53. She appeared beside me as she placed the tea on the table. I picked up the cup and drank it. But I felt weird. I was already unconscious... I died because of THAT woman...
"Goodbye, Little Cock Robin..." Is what I last heard.