If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in a river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh, uh oh
Sealand knew he was dying. Even his royal family was leaving him. His body was rusting and, slowly but surely, falling apart. He wasn't afraid to die, though. He had been optimistic, of course, but he knew he may not last forever. He wasn't meant to last. He was just a small war fort with big dreams. If he did die, he wanted to not go in fear, but in knowing.
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,
And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
Finland was a sobbing mess, held tight in the arms of his Swedish husband. His baby was dying. Sealand was so young, especially when compared to his 'mama,' Finland. Sealand's fragile body was shaking visibly with the pain of a nation's death. His personality was a strong one of vibrant colors. He would be forever remembered in the color of the sky on a sunny day, or the color of the calm ocean. Sealand had seemed so strong, and had declined in health so fast it didn't seem possible.
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
How old was he? In his early forties? That was quite young for a country. He was a country, no matter what the others told him. He was a country to the Nordics, and to himself. He had a heart three times to big for his body. Why couldn't anybody have helped him, he was perfectly capable to use his heart and all the strength his twelve-year-old body had for his people. Oh, the pain of the short time he had tried to become a 'real' country in.
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Sealand's boyfriend was a hopeless romantic. He always wrote love songs and love poems about any- and every- thing. Sealand always said that he wanted to keep all those writings till the day of his death. Now, they were being put in a memorial for the young boy, along with some black roses and a book about Sealand's hero, Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up, but still fought off mean, nasty pirates (Though in Sealand's mind, he fought angry blondes with oversized eyebrows.) was an inspiration and source of a candle of hope. What Sealand wouldn't have gave to be Peter Pan.
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
How much had he seen in his short life? Far more than enough to understand what it really meant to be a country. He wasn't ignorant. He knew pain. He was a tool for war. Why didn't anyone understand? It was much to late for them to see now. He was in his last minutes, but at least he was dying with a smile.
And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,
I've never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand,
There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by...
...the sharp knife of a short life, oh well?
I've had just enough time
Sealand awoke in pure white, wearing the dress made for baby countries. Was this death? "Come to me, little one. Do not be afraid," The voice seemed distantly familiar. The man he saw, he immediately recognized from stories of old. The Roman Empire stood waiting to greet him. Sealand fiddled with the little green ring on his finger. Finland had given it to him telling him to 'Stay Gold' always. Sealand was struck by a painful thoiught. He had knew what true love was, he remembered being told he would be loved forever. He remembered the warm feeling he got when he held Latvia's hand. It was warm and made his heart swell. That was true love. Warm and caring, and it never got old. Did love forever still count after death? Or did the horrid thing known as death stop that?
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
Did he have any unfinished business? Of course. He had lots more he had wanted to do, and a lot longer he wanted to live. Luckily, when he first felt his health decline, he started writing letters to anyone who might care, if only just a smidgen. He had put each and every one in his diary, carefully folded. Anything he left unfinished would be taken care of by his mama, he just knew it.
A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'
It had taken about a week of going through the things that had been in Sealand's little bedroom, when Finland found the little blue-and-white striped book. He had been thumbing through it when the letters fell out. England had been the first person Finland called about the letters. England had been over as quick as possible. The letter for him was about two and a half full sheets. He had apologized for being a brat, he had only done so to get recognized. It was all he truly wanted. He had poured out how he wished he could've been able to call England his big brother without fear of being permanently disowned. England, for once, listened to the words of the little boy. If only he had tried to listen before. It was too little, too late. He lost someone without even giving them a fighting chance. He hadn't realized Sealand had so much to say, and so much to keep struggling for. Funny that no one cares unless you're pretty, popular, or dead.
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The small memorial for Sealand consisted of a sobbing Finland being held once again in the strong arms of Sweden, a Denmark bawling, whilst holding onto a silently crying Norway, an Iceland over by himself in quiet grieving, a Latvia holding a picture of him and Sealand close to his chest, and an England, who placed a small stuffed Seagull he had given to Sealand as a young child with the other objects that belonged to the small micronation.
Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (uh, oh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
Sealand had told those closest to him not to cry for him, but who would be able to hold back the waterworks when a young boy, with such spunk and a radiant glow like his, had passed on. Latvia hummed the soft tune of a song he wrote that had turned into Sealand's favorite, he had called it "Of Black Hearts And Seagull Doves" in honor of the hyper micronation. Sealand had claimed his life was long enough to at least know true love and true pain, but it was far too short for that little knife of death to take away such a perfect boy.
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls...
A life that short and sweet deserved so much more. Why do the best have to go so early? He needed so much longer. There wasn't anything sadder than seeing such a young boy gone for good. His heart and glow would live on forever in the other nation's, that he knew, hearts.