When did the need for Death truly come to me? Was it when I fought with fratello? Perhaps my fight with Ludwig. Could it have been the wars I fought many years ago? Or did it run deeper than that?
...
"Feliciano wake up." Feliciano only groaned in response before turning the other way and sleeping again. "Oi bastard! Listen to me!" Romano yanked the blanket off his sleeping brother who turned to him tiredly. 'perhaps today...no, not today.'
"Come on, those damn Allies are heading this way, you have to go!" Romano said with a harsh scowl. "What?" Feliciano said not believing what he heard. "I have to go fight, they're in my place. The bastards already took over most of Sicily," Romano said shoving things into a pack. "Here, you have to go somewhere safe, I'm trying to stop them but I don't know if I can." Romano gave his brother the pouch and his rifle.
"Fratello, I have to fight too." Italy said taking the rifle. "No. I can do it. Damn America and Britain are strong and so is Canada. That damn Potato bastard isn't treating us so great either," Romano said. Italy looked at his brother who looked horrible. How bad was his fight? "Fratello, me and you make Italy together. I won't let you fight alone," Italy said. His brother nodded in approval.
"Feliciano, I have to go back. Be safe okay? Ti voglio bene," Romano said before taking his rifle and leaving the tent. Feliciano sat in silence before standing up. 'How bothersome life is now," Feliciano thought as he left the tent, hands firmly grasping the gun.
...
Feliciano gripped the brush in his own hand and gently stroked it against the canvas. How great it felt to paint. "Feli, I'm going out," Romano said before walking out the door. Feliciano only continued to paint.
The canvas seemed to bleed the blacks and greys as the red tainted the blank spaces. He hummed softly to himself as he painted. "Ah~ with just a stroke of the Paintbrush, a beautiful world can be seen," he sang softly before humming again. He set the brush down and smiled at his work. "Hetaaliiiaa."
He picked up the canvas and admired it for a few more seconds. It held no picture but held so much meaning. Every dark stroke painted his tainted thoughts so well. He sighed and tossed it into a garbage bag and threw it out.
Feliciano went to the kitchen and silently took out the pasta from the cupboard. Pasta, one of the many joys in life. Tomatoes come in too, and what's some tomatoes without one of his favorite people.
"~Nee nee papa , wain wo choudai, nee nee mama, nee nee mama ~" the phone rang and Feliciano picked it up. Speak of Tomatoes and he will arrive.
"Fratello, are you almost home? No? I see... No, you have fun with big brother Spain. Si, I'm sure. No Fratello, I'm fine. Maybe I'll invite Germany. FRATELLO! That is not nice! Okay, bye! Si, ti figlio bene."
Pasta for one? That's fine. The water was now boiling and Feliciano tossed in the noodles as he sang to himself. "Oh, with just a single boil, a recipe that will make you cry tears of joy." He carefully cut the Tomatoes and pretty soon sat down with a plate full of pasta. He took his glass of wine and raised it. "With our boot, let's make a toast," he sipped the drink. "Hetaaliiiaa."
Yes, clumsy Italy is how the world saw him. He preferred it that way. He hoped that someday soon, he too will believe he is just sunshine and happiness as they do.