Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Prologue
The way England saw it life could be what it liked and he could be what he liked. Should they really have to care for the other? The March of time would continue on anyways so what was the point of trying to make sense of it all?
He found himself thinking on the topic a bit more than he cared to admit. Lazy days surrounded by the smell of tea and dusty papers only seemed to aid in the thoughts. He would never admit it but it scared him a bit.
The fact that he had become so impassive to it all. What had happened to the proud country he had once been? To the pointless fights and ridiculous pride? When had the color drained from him leaving him dull and lifeless, a garnet worn just a bit to much, left out in the sun a bit to long the color long faded from the fabric?
When had the stars, that at one time brought him great joy to look at (when he could that is, considering the weather in England) become so trivial, earning nothing more than a passive gaze from him? When had he become so impassive to it all?
He was weak and crumpled, the fire in his eyes long faded put out by the water that was time. The effort of doing anything no longer seeming worth it. Why had the smells of his musky old library become so familiar to him? Why had his life become to dull?
Even now he found himself falling further into a pit, full of all these unanswered questions, regrets, and half baked promises to start caring again. But he couldn't move, bring himself to try to escape the pit because he couldn't bring himself to care. And that scared him it really did.
There were so many memories of happier days that the present paled in comparison, a pair of tired eyes next to the bright vibrant ones of the past.
He winced when he looked in the mirror. When had he become so pale? So tired looking? Dark circles under tired, glassy eyes contrasting a pale face. His hair messy and unkempt. His attire fairing no better..
How had something that had been so important to him fallen so far downhill? When had he stopped caring what he wore? Stopped trying to keep the habit on combing his hair and taking a shower every night? How could he have lost so much will that he couldn't even do that?
So England sat there. Trying to figure out how to fix this. " How have I fallen so far? Lost so much?" His voice was raspy from lack of use, Cracking when he spoke. It was Just as hollow and tired as he looked. He supposed life was a cruel game that no matter how far you got, how much you tried you would lose in the end. Time robbing you of all your resources. Your effort and your will to move forward. How had he let it extinguish the flames in his eyes? he thought. His mind put into a state of despair as he sat there.
This was it. The tears on his cheeks startled him. He let a crooked grin fall onto his face. How far had he come in the end? How close had he gotten to the being victorious? To being the first to win in the game against life. He knew that he had lost now. But still he wondered.
He closed his eyes. His head falling back. The tears would drown him now. End it all. Despair and loneliness there power. But he couldn't bring himself to care because he was alone now. He had lost everything so he let himself slip away. Into the darkness. So very indifferent.