Bad girl! No new stories! Bad!

Ahh! Don't beat me I know, I know! I'm sorry but I couldn't get it out of my head!

Anyways...This is a random where the hell did this come from kind of thing. For some reason I thought of the poem 'Mondays Child' so I am taking the poem and having each day correspond to a character that is born on that day. Hopefully you like it.

Don't ask me why I chose Iceland first. I just have this love for him...wait this sentence defeats the purpose of the one before it.

Oh well.

Monday's Child

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

The air was cold and frigid though it was only early September. The wind blew off the ocean and through the wool knit sweater that covered your upper body. The hair on your arms stood on end as a rather rough gust hit your back. Taking your gloved hands you rubbed your arms and sauntered over to when the silver headed boy lay sprawled on a deck chair.

"Why do I have to dig? It's your garden!" You glared over at the foot deep hole and then turned back to his shining bright eyes, "Can plants even grow in Iceland?"

He furrowed his lightly coloured brow, "Firstly, yes. Plants can grow here…We just don't have that much of variety. And second, you wanted to add 'colour' to my yard. I see no obligation to help."

He turned his eyes back to the sea, leaned back and let out a long sigh. You knew that he had drifted into a daydream. He was always the kind to wander off in his own mind, imagination running wild and return to reality only if forced to. Stepping down the stairs you picked up the hand shovel and began to place some blue, white and red flowers into the dirt.

Iceland. He had always had your undivided attention. Even when you first laid eyes on him with his brother and other Nordics you were enthralled with the mysterious island nation. He was relatively young, close to you in age. His silver hair, purple eyes, pale skin and tall stature made you blush when ever his dead to the world eyes landed on you. After being introduced by Denmark – good old Denmark and his persistent ways – you made quick friends with the others thus spending more time with Iceland when the older Nordics would invite you over. As the years passed by your friendships grew and you and Iceland became closer and closer. You were best friends…well you thought so but you could never really know what the boy was thinking unless he blew up in an emotional shower at Denmark. He let you stay at his house on the outskirts of Reykjavik. You spent more time with him than in your own country (Canada missed you). You had your own room with clothes, toiletries, games, books and other personal items strewn throughout his home. Iceland would call it sometimes a "hostile takeover" but you knew it was his way of making a joke. He didn't make them very often. He was quiet and soft spoken, never butting in with his opinion unless asked. There was one time when he got into a heated debate with Sweden about trading. You didn't catch more than half due to the thick accents and lapses into native tongues. Another thing quirky about Iceland that you noticed in all the years that you were together was that he hardly spoke Icelandic. He spoke more in English than his native language even if he was talking to one of his citizens. You begged him to teach you but he always refused. So what did you do? Take night classes and teach yourself. All in all the two of you were "like an old married couple" as most nations liked to tease.

"Iceland~ Iceland~ Iceland! ICELAND!"

He blinked his dazed eyes and focused on you. What he say of a young woman covered in dirty and mud leaning over him with a pout on her rose lips.

"Come help me please? My back hurts from kneeling for so long." He stared at you blankly. Words processing in his brain as you put a hopeful smile on your face.

"No."

"Thanks – What?"

"I don't do manually labor. I'll supervise though."

"Wha - How – Nah – Mhh"

"The sun is setting and it gets even colder at night. You know this. Come inside when you are finished," he paused and you could see the wheels turning in his head. After a brief moment of hesitation he continued on.

"Make sure you don't track dirt into the house." He lifted his body off the chair and with long, muscular legs walked through the back door and into the adjoining laundry room.

You stared after him jaw open.

"What a, a, an argh!"

You stomped back over to the half finished flower patch. You plopped down with a thud on the disturbed dirt and began to finish your little project. What should have been a fun activity for the both of you, left you feeling like a child playing in the mud and a frown on your face.

"That boy has never worked a day in his life! What does he know about manual labor? Quitter!"

Review if you please!

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it as much as I did...I guess I should like it since I'm the author.

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M