Mr Blue sky.
Note: stuff inside the -italics - are heard on a TV
Disclaimer- sadly, the song this is based on and Hetalia itself belong to their respective owners, no matter how much I want it... I suppose that's a blessing to everyone else though...
-"We are sorry to report that huge rain clouds have gathered over the city and heavy downpour should be expected for the next few weeks"-
I didn't need the weather report, the tears were already steaming down my face. Damn, why did I have to find out this way, though a newspaper, like that was all that was left, paper and ink. I clutched the paper even harder, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to face the world. All I could think of was those sky blue eyes which would never see again.
Alfred F. Jones died on the 11th of September. I suppose it was almost justice, now I could pretend that all the morning around the world was for him instead, that that many people cared. No one did of course, in fact they cared so little no one had even told me. I could almost see this disapproving glares of his family it's your fault, you ruined him, you poisoned him. Well, now he's gone, are you happy now?
I could hear the bangs and crashes of my (very) pregnant mother upstairs, It was all most irony, a life lost for a life gained. At that moment I dropped the paper and ran, I didn't care about the rain, I didn't care about the cars, all that I had ever cared about was already gone. What does that leave me with? Damnit Al you stupid git, how could you leave me? How could you leave me alone like this? For a second I saw his face, happy and bright, like sunshine against a pure blue sky. Then the tears started and I hit the pavement, sobbing like nothing you had ever seen before. No one stopped, everyone to busy living their own lives to even stop and acknowledge the little boy who didn't have one any more.
I don't know how long I was there for, everything else had disappeared, and people, cars, rain (that had now progress to a fully-fledged storm) nothing meant anything to me. The rain was so hard it was like it was almost like it was crying for the life lost. Finally, some true justice in this world. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to my mothers face, her green eyes from behind her wire glasses looked into mine and with a slight nod she pulled me to my feet. I was too broken to even mention the fact that a highly pregnant woman should be out in the rain. That was one thing that I was grateful for, both my mother and father were fully supportive of my life 'choices' and though Alfred was an excellent young man, in truth the only thing they were disappointed in was the fact that I didn't pull out his chair for him that one time he came around of dinner. Alfred however was not so lucky. When we told them about our true feelings all we got were questions and blame. Now I look back, why did we care what they though, it was our lives, our love, but I guess nothing mattered anymore. My mother held the umbrella over our heads and we walked back in through the storm, my head on her shoulder, hand in hand. The sky was a grey as my heart.
The funeral for the young man known as Alfred f jones was held that Sunday. My parents and I attended (my father had even made cupcakes to give to his 'mourning' family), even though we weren't invited or informed. The stares we received on entrance to the church was enough to tell us that, my fathers pink suit and my mothers pigtails didn't really help with the situation. The funeral was pure torture, 'friends' and 'family' telling lies and made ups story's about him, like how he wanted to be a football (Grid iron, you idiots, football is played with a ROUND ball and you don't use your hands) player, or how he had a crush on a little British girl in year one. All lies, he hated the football he was forced to play and there was no British girl in our year one class. These people, who were pretending to know him, telling the world about him, had never see the real Alfred. They had never seen him cry the way I did, never saw his true smile. Who were they to talk about him behind his back? After the speech's came the pictures, and that was when I broke, all those pictures of him smiling happily, playing with his younger brother (the only member of the Jones family I could stand, sadly he was to shy and upset to say anything but I had the seen way he looked at Gilbert in the middle of class, hopefully the Jones would be more understanding this time around) and just being Alfred. I was almost sobbing too hard to notice both of my father's anxious looks I turned to my mother and saw her face contorted in pain. I had grown used to it (as you do with a pregnant mother) but this was different. I heard a quite gasp and a tiny whisper "it's coming", my parents suddenly got up ran to the car, dragging me along with them. All I could see behind me was Alfred's coffin and the angry stares of the funeral goers. Bye Alfred, I forgive you, I just want to see you again, I love you. With that the church doors closed and we jumped into the car, my father speeding of to the hospital like a bullet.
My father and I were stuck in the waiting room. A terribly designed room, with chairs that felt like stone slabs. My Father was terrified, you could tell for the little twitches (that scared most but I had come to love) and multiple cupcake wrappers strewn all over the floor (his ultimate comfort food). I on the other had drank my fill of tea over an hour ago and was now trying to distract myself by counting the mint bunnies that were painted all over the walls. I had reached the satisfying number 1066 when a blond (male, I might add) nurse walked to our respective area, "I presume you are Oliver and Arthur Kirkland", he sounded French, which considering what my family had gone through today was not what I wanted to hear. The accent oozed superiority, but he was the nurse so we had to follow along. We entered small doorway and there lying on the bed was my mother, tired, sweaty and holding a tiny little baby in her arms.
"Arthur, meet your new little brother"
I walked up to my mother's side as quietly as possible, afraid to wake him. The tiny baby in my mother's arms slept on. I stroked his fluffy sandy-blond hair carefully and almost jumped back when I heard an audible boing as one stubborn strand refused to go down. The tears had started again, and almost as if sensing it, he grabbed my hand, his so small against my own. I could hear my father and the doctor discussion something along the lines of 'premature birth' and 'miracle' but I was too engrossed in the miracle of the moment.
He opened his eyes. They were a starting sky blue. They looked into mine and he smiled a happy almost cheeky grin that I had seen so many times before. A sudden wave of memories hit me as my mother softly tilted my face upward and kissed my cheek.
"His name is Alfred"
The tears stopped, I just smiled back at the innocent face of the boy I loved more than any other, I held him tighter, looking into those beautiful blue eyes, Welcome back Alfie, I love you.
-"Morning! Today's forecast calls for blue skies"-
Hallo! This is my first ever fanfic soooooooo... please review! *bows head and begs for enlightenment* I WANT TO IMPROVE! If you do I'll give you an imaginary cookie from the dark side bake-sale! ^J^. Creative criticism gladly accepted! The title and last sentence are from the song Mr blue sky by ELO it was the inspiration for this story and I would hugely recommend listening to it, it'll BLOW YOUR MIND!