Seeing the past in the future
There was a big crowd. In it were many of a man's… let's call them "coworkers". There were also other people, friends of the man, the man's new family, and such. Everyone the man knew. They were all attending his funeral.
In the crowd, there was a man he would call his brother. For many centuries had they been together. Even after he lost his "job" they stayed together. They never lost contact. Him, and the other "coworkers" all had a messed up sense of time, as their time went much slower than others did. The dead man used to be like them. His brother and he used to share their work. They both used to be "representives" of Italy. He lost his job when their boss found out they only needed one Italy. Since then, his time was like other human's, while his brother's time was still messed up.
Also in the crowd, there was a man he would call his best friend. His time was also messed up, though since the dead man lost his job, he tried his best to keep up. He managed to follow the time as if he was also human, not letting months and years go by in a flash, like others did. After some years of meeting each other at least once a month, the meetings got fewer, and in the end, there were no more. They hadn't met in two years, until the funeral. Now the man who called himself Spain wished it had been different.
He placed a flower, a red carnation, on the grave. He noticed two small lilies, the national flower of Italy, had already been placed there. It could only have been his brother, Italy. he smiled a sad face, as he thought how broken he had been when he walked past, almost crying, but keeping it in. he had been sad since the news that his brother had become human, and no longer was a personification of south Italy.
As he lifted his head, he saw what stood on the grave. "Lovino Romano Vargas. Che Dio sia con lui, e lasciarlo riposare in pace." It was Italian, and he was suddenly happy he had started learning it. It said, Lovino Romano Vargas. May god be with him and let him rest in peace.
He stepped back, and noticed a light tap on his shoulder. When he turned to see who it was, he saw a woman, with green eyes, and dark curls in her hair. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but was unsure how.
"… May I help you, miss?" he asked politely. She sighed.
"Oh sorry, I was wondering whether to speak in Spanish or English. I haven't talked Spanish in several years, so I hoped for English." She smiled. "I was wondering if you perhaps were Spain?"
"Ah, yes I am, why do you ask?"
"Because my late husband wanted me to thank you."
"Your husband…" he started, confused. Before he could continue, she pointed at the grave.
"Lovino have told me a lot about you. My name is Isabél Vargas."
"Ah, Isabél! Can I ask, are you Spanish? I mean, you have the accent, and the features…"
"Yes indeed I am. I came to Italy to study the food here, and I liked it so much I moved here after my studies." She laughed, and then smiled a small, sad smile.
"He was a great man," the nation told her.
"Too bad his health was poor. We would sometimes go to his brother in the winter, and being as stubborn as he was, he wouldn't wear the big jackets he got from him. Well, I have to agree, they looked horrible, but comical." She laughed.
"Yes that's him, alright!" He laughed as well, remembering his old friend.
She sighed, thinking back at the time that had gone. "We were together for twenty years. Sometimes I wish it wouldn't go as fast…" he nodded.
"It goes way too fast. Some days you decide to take a little nap, and suddenly three hours have gone by. It's hard to believe it's the same with days and weeks…"
"True that." They laughed again.
A voice behind the woman made them stop.
"Mamma, Possiamo andare a casa presto?" he didn't understand what it meant, but he guessed it was something about going home.
"certo, cara. solo un momento." The woman turned to her side, revealing a girl behind her.
Spain suddenly got his breath stuck in his throat. The same way of standing, so that no one would see their face properly. The same curl sticking out. When she looked up, he saw that under her dark, curly hair, she had exactly the same eyes as her father, that looked like they wanted someone to care, but didn't want to say so.
"Spain, this is my daughter, Chiara. People always tell me she looks just like me, but I guess you can see how she resembles her father, right?" he nodded.
"So this is Spain, huh? Looks like a normal guy to me…" the young woman crossed her arms, studying the man in front of her. Her mother laughed.
"That's true, but your father was also like him, you know? Did he look any different than any of the other men around?"
The girl thought about it for a little while, before stating clearly, "his curl was bigger and stronger than the others." This caused her mother to laugh again. Spain also had trouble keeping his laugh in.
"She is just like him," he said, keeping his laugh muffled.
"Yes, I can't see how people think she's so much like me!" Isabél laughed as well.
"Mamma! Andiamo già!" Chiara seemed to be tired of being laughed at, as she held her mother's arm tightly.
"va bene, caro. Sorry about this, mister Spain, but my daughter is not happy about being with strangers or crowds, so we shall take our leave. Let's meet another time!" she said, smiling. He agreed, and the women walked away.
The nation smiled and sighed as he turned to face the grave again.
"I should have known… you're so stubborn you won't leave even after death…" he laughed silently as he walked away. He should bring Italy to see them.
Mamá, Possiamo andare a casapresto? Mom, can we go home soon?
Certo, cara. solo un momento. Yes, dear, just a moment.
Mamma!Andiamogià!Mom, lets go!
va bene, caro. Fine, dear.