Hello, there. I'm Alaska, an American state. But most people call me Bianca, because, well, that's my name. I know, extremely too girly for me. Anyway, this is this story of how I fell in love. It started right after Mr. Russia put me up for sale...
I shivered feverishly as I trudged on the same way I'd been walking for days. With a full knapsack and a heavy heart, my baggage was almost too much for my weak and skinny legs to bear.
A fresh roll of thunder roared above me, a lighting bolt followed it promptly. I knew I should've stopped somewhere and waited until the storm passed, but, of course, I was too stubborn. I sighed and stared around.
There were a few houses- no, more like cottages- scattered here and there. But as I went on, they became closer and more frequent, and now, small shops were starting to appear.
My brow furrowed in confusion as a few extremely tall buildings rose above the two-story houses.
Those were unusually tall for me at the time, I hadn't really been exposed to skyscrapers yet. "What the bloody hell...?" I mumbled. "Kind of strangeness is that?" Candles lit up the small windows of a small pub, giving it an eerie kind of warmth.
I guess I wasn't really paying attention because I walked straight into a metal pole and toppled over onto the wet ground. The contents of my bag spilled out, including my silver Revolver.
"Dammit," I hissed, hastily trying to gather up my things. "Why do I have to be so clumsy?" I pushed my sopping hair out of my eyes and sniffled. It was because of my stupid temper and potty mouth. That's why Russia was selling me.
"Hey," a voice sounded from above. "Do you need any help?" I looked up and my jaw dropped. The guy was drop dead gorgeous! He a kind face, blue eyes, blonde(and this cute little curl on the top of his head), and a gentle voice.
Still, I defiantly said,"I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch." But I couldn't help the fact that I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from him.
"S-So what's your name?" He stuttered. I scowled. I was supposed to be Alaska. Miss I-won't-take-that-mess-so-you-can-stick-it-up-your -ass Alaska! But here I was going all dewey eyed school girl over a cute guy!
"Bianca," I answered. "But it's Alaska to you." Despite my rudeness, he just smiled and said,"My name's Matthew, or some people call me Canada. Nice to meet you, Alaska!" I looked up. The rain had abruptly stopped and the dark clouds were drifting apart.
I turned back to Canada,"Nice to meet 'cha, Mattie." Stretched over to grab a picture of my mother. She died a few years back. "Is that your mom?" Matt asked me, curiously. I stared into my mother's happy face.
"Well..." I struggled with my words. "Yeah... Sh-she's gone now..." Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, Mattie exclaimed,"My mom's dead too!" I shot him an aren't-you-a-doofus glare.
"Right," he nodded bashfully and blushed. "You're sure you don't need any help?" I shook my head as if I were irritated. Then, he shrugged and walked away. After his seventh step, I called out to him.
"Wait!" He turned around and cocked his head to the side. "You could offer me a place to stay," I said as if it was the most normal statement for someone you just met.
"Oh, sure!" He smiled. This guy was a complete lunatic. "You can stay at my place for a few days. I don't mind." I smirked,"Good, because I was gonna come no matter what."
Matt chuckled,"You know, I like you." The warmth crept up my cheeks and rose to my forehead so that my whole face was red. "Rule Number One: don't say things like that," I said plainly. "I hate feeling loved."
"Well, if you hate feeling loved," Matthew started smartly. "You haven't been loved yet." I blinked and drew myself to full height. Matt stared at me. I knew he was marveling at my shortness. I had been 4'8 since I was ten. I'm now eighteen.
With my backpack securely mounted on my back and my heart less heavy, I was ready to go. "I live just down the road," Matt said, gesturing forward. "Ready?"
I snarled irritably,"No need to make this symbolic. Let's just go." And with my final word we started our trek. The thing Canada neglected to tell me: In Canada, 'down the road', meant two miles.