Light in the Dark
Seychelles knelt on the beach, her head in her hands, her wounds not yet healed. Behind her lay the wreckage of her capital Victoria. The tropical storm had originally looked set to pass her small islands, and, too early, her people had removed their flood and storm defences. As they had gone about their day to day lives, their thoughts on their hopes and dreams, a devastating storm had struck without warning. First to hit her capital was a six metre high storm surge that had reminded her of the tsunami that had decimated Indonesia in 2004. Taken by surprise, hundreds had been killed by the deadly wave. Shocking as it had been, it had only been a prelude. Horrifically powerful wind and rain had followed, driving an even higher storm surge into Victoria and Mahe in general. People had raced screaming for the hills, only to find themselves caught between two fires. Dislodged by the rain and wind, an incomprehensibly huge lahar had fallen from the hillsides, engulfing many of the buildings that had escaped the storm surges. Of the seventy thousand people that called Mahe home, the death toll was over ten thousand. Electricity had been cut off, clean water was near impossible to find, gas pipes were ruptured, and there was rampant looting and crime amid the ruins. Seychelles had stumbled out of the chaos and collapsed to her knees in the sand. The day was bright and sunny, but the warm sunshine brought no relief to the island nation as she wept in the sand. Even the beach was marred with signs of the storm; wreckage and dead animals littered the golden sands tourists had once flocked to. Her chocolate brown skin was marred with lacerations and ugly bruises, showing where the small nation had been affected by the catastrophe. Her blue dress was stained with crimson blood, both fresh and old, and whitish mud from the lahar. But her honey coloured eyes, once joyous, happy orbs of gold, had lost their colour, and were now flat and dull. The lively little island girl was replaced with an emotional wreck, one so traumatised by the loss of so many so fast, that she couldn't even get up from the sand and begin recovering from the disaster. She was so upset, and crying so hard, she didn't notice the newcomer behind her until he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't cry, Sey..."
She whirled around to hit the person, full of anger, shock and depression, but froze upon seeing who it was. In her misery she hadn't registered the voice.
"Fr-france?"
The tall, blond, elegant nation who had been like a father and older brother to her nodded slowly. Against France's immaculate appearance and natural charm she felt even more filthy than ever. Disregarding the fact his former colony was bloodied, filthy and in tears, he drew the girl into his arms and hugged her close.
"We heard what had happened. Satellites saw the storm hit you here and we began to organise relief efforts."
Safe in the arms of her mentor, Seychelles felt the tears well up again, but these were tears of gratitude for him caring enough to spend so much money on her rescue. She felt the first rays of hope swell within her, and spoke in a small voice.
"I'm... sorry I tried to hit you."
France chuckled slightly as he hugged Seychelles.
"It's not the first time I've been swung at by a lady, mon cherie."
Seychelles tried to chuckle but somehow couldn't quite make the sound come out. She shifted against the French man, feeling safe and secure. Slowly she remembered what he'd said and spoke again.
"Who else heard what happened to me?"
France let her go but gently turned her around. Seychelles gasped in astonishment. Hovering over her ruined city were helicopters from many nations, and already relief teams were rounding up the looters, tending to the injured people, and making a start on cleaning up her home. France spoke to her gently.
"Almost everyone in the world is here. All the G8, your brother Canada, the Nordics, everyone from Europe, even Switzerland, Russia, Australia, the Asians, even the micronations. You were never forgotten, Seychelles. We're here to help you, every one of us."
Seychelles felt numb with the enormity of the relief effort. As she gaped at the people helping to restore order amid the chaos, England detached himself from one of the work crews and came to join his colony and arch-rival.
"With everyone pitching in like this, Victoria will be repaired in no time. How are you, Seychelles?"
Unable to articulate words of gratitude sufficient to thank even the crusty old pirate, Seychelles fell on him in a hug, her eyes brimming with tears as she wept. France looked at England but said nothing. England awkwardly returned the hug as yet more nations came to the beach. In the light of the disaster that had struck, it seemed there was a truce of sorts and not even Prussia was being his usual self. Everyone was being caring and considerate to the small nation wounded so deeply. Uncaring that so many were there, Seychelles began to cry again.
It had been three months since the catastrophic storm and lahar. International recovery efforts had repaired or replaced everything that had been damaged or destroyed by the storm. By now, the bulk of the aid workers had moved on, but some remained, mostly English and French, to help police the recovering nation. Seychelles sat with them both on the beach, her eyes shut tight behind the bandage. For almost a month, Seychelles had been all but blind, a final injury from the disaster that had struck her. Deeply concerned, England and France had remained behind to take care of the girl, although France had insisted on cooking for her. Despite his assertion that there was nothing wrong with his cooking, England had given up without too much dispute. Seychelles was still vulnerable, and likely would be for some time, so both nations had swallowed their pride and agreed to be friendly around one another and their former colony so as not to distress her. France helped Seychelles up as she began to rise from her chair.
"Can you see yet, mon cherie?"
Seychelles shook her head.
"France? England? Will you walk me through Victoria please?"
Both nations agreed, and within minutes, all three were walking through the newly rebuilt streets of her capital. People were going about their daily lives, children were running around and playing, and high above, birds soared and called. A refreshing breeze blew in from the ocean, bringing a smile to Seychelles as she walked on. Suddenly she stopped, cringing slightly. Both England and France turned to her in concern. She began to clumsily tug off her bandage, revealing her eyes were still tightly closed. Very slowly, she began to open her eyes. England muttered something as she looked up at them. Her eyes had returned to their previous hue of sparkling gold, and looking at the rejuvenated, fresh youngster before them, both England and France knew she would be alright. Before either could ask her how she was, she flung herself on her two guardians with a joyful laugh. The wounded, scarred and broken little waif was gone for good. In her place was once again the cheerful, pretty and whole young lady of the ocean. Ignoring the citizens around them, both England and France embraced her back, overjoyed that after the storm, Seychelles had bounced back to normal. She whispered her thanks as she kissed them both.