ᴀᴜɢᴜsᴛɪɴᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ⁞×
[死亡,你为什么背叛我?]
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I don't own Hetalia.
Title: death, why do you forsake me?
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I sleep early to appease the groaning of my body. I lie in bed at ten, and blink; it is six in the morning and I can sleep no longer.
A day lasts but a minute. I can no longer stop to smell the roses because they die before I can raise them to my face.
How much longer am I expected to bear this?
I must live, my country wills it. I must go on, China does not stop, does not die.
Oh, how I want to sleep...
At the world meeting, my joints grind against another in protest, crying out; they have seen their neighbours for the last four millennia, is there no reprieve?
America stands up quickly, bouncing around the room like his feet were springs. If I could remember what it was like to be two hundred and thirty-five again!
'Hey China, look alive!' he grins.
Alive? So I was, at a time when I could handle a sword—it was me who taught Japan—instead of the clumsy wok I use today. So I used to be. No longer alive, but unable to give myself up to death though so very willing. Will it not take me by force before I am completely useless? Am I to be a storehouse for memories that the world does not care to remember anymore?
I am the last to know the ancients. I am the last ancient. If Japan, my younger brother, is old—what am I?
Someone asks me if I am alright; I sigh out the burdens of too many centuries and say, 'I want to sleep.'
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「我求你,让我睡。」
「I beg you, let me sleep.」
(你为什么不让我睡?)
(Why won't you let me sleep?)
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back to angst it is. #3 of meng-can't-bring-herself-to-study-so-have-a-drabble-instead.
in other news, today is my parents' anniversary~.
