DATE:
Five hundred years ago, Lovino asked me where I thought we would be in a thousand years from that moment. I said I just hoped we would be happy, and he'd still be with me. He said he'd wait the thousand years out just to laugh at me if I was wrong.
There's five hundred years left to reach that thousand year mark, to see if I was right and Lovi and I will be here and happy, but sometimes I wonder if we will be here in five hundred years. With the way the others talk and look, you would think we won't survive until then. But I think we just might, even with everything that has happened.
The world ended because of a war; so bad that World Wars I and II fade in comparison. That's what the others say; that the world ended and it's just a matter of time until we're all dead.
But it hasn't ended. If it really had ended, would I be sitting here, on a makeshift bench, Lovi asleep at my side as the sun beats down on my head? Would there be birds chirping and the rise and fall of a survivor's voice in song as she beats together some ground herbs to rub on wounds? If the world was truly over, would I hear the laughter of children at play and the murmurs of the adults as they complete their tasks?
I don't think the world has ended; I believe something is testing us. God, maybe. Or something else. But our world was so full of evil things before that war even – starvation, invasions, lies, failing economies, twisted politicians – that maybe we shouldn't see this as the end of the world, but a chance to make things right.
But the others are still convinced that we're all going to die sooner or later; which is why Germany has us writing in this diary, I suppose. He says it isn't a diary, it's something for the new generations to come to remember us by.
It strikes me as funny that someone who believes that the world's dead wants to leave a book behind for people to read.
But Germany won't listen to any protests. He said there is no reading of other entries allowed, because what we say must be secret and that privacy must be respected, but I doubt that rule will hold up for long. Lovi will read my entry, and Gilbert will read everyone's entry because they're just like that.
I'm not sure what to say, but my pen can't stop moving and putting down meaningless words on these ruined pages of a lost child's diary. Lovi is asleep next to me, his head resting on my shoulder, and his weight is comfortable, grounding like an anchor. Gilbert is arguing with Francis; I can hear their voices, although they don't sound angry. More tired than anything else.
Can't they see that if they act like the world's ended, it might as well? Just because some of our Nations have died does not mean we ourselves will join them. Just because we have lost best friends and siblings does not mean we should lay down ourselves. If anything, it means we should work for the future.
Maybe that is what Germany is trying to do in his own way with this journal.
Germany and England are heading towards us now, carrying the shovels we use for hasty burials in a field not far from here. They look so very tired, and Germany keeps glancing over his shoulder as if he's searching for something.
Germany pauses by me and Lovi as England passes us by, heading for Francis and Gilbert. Germany doesn't say anything, just watches silently as I write. He'd given me this journal earlier today and explained what it was for, but this is the first time I've seen him since then. He looks so much more fragile now than he did before the War, and it reminds me of that look in his eyes after World War II ended.
He looks haunted, like a thousand ghosts are chasing him, whispering in his ear, trying to pull him away with them. Haunted is the look almost everyone has now, and how can we not look that way? Children have died at our feet, adults have passed on pulling on our legs, and there was nothing we could do about it.
But just because millions of people – people who lived, laughed, cried - have died does not mean we should give up and let millions more of living, laughing, crying people go.
Germany mumbles something about Italy after a moment and turns around to walk back the way he came. Germany was always a strange one; too strict and too blindingly loyal. Almost too loyal to the country he has represented for hundreds of years.
That's another thing about the others' end-of-the-world belief that I just can't understand. We have all lived for hundreds of years, we are our people combined into one being, our lands turned human. If we survived that war that wiped out some of us, who is to say we can't survive the next few days, weeks, years?
Maybe even centuries.
Maybe I will be around five hundred years from now, Lovi at my side, laughing because we'll both be remembering that day five hundred years ago and I'll have proved him wrong. Maybe the world will be flourishing again, maybe people will laugh from real joy and cry from something other than utter despair.
Or we could all be dead, but I really don't like the sound of that last choice.
Lovi is shifting around, meaning he's about to wake up. Before the war, if he woke up after falling asleep on me, he'd bluster about, turning red, and end up drumming on my back as he shrieked in my ear, telling me to stop laughing and take him seriously for just a moment!
But now he just sits up and rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, staring at me through his messy bangs. He's asking me what I'm doing, so I must make the last part of this quick. Germany says we must give a blessing, put down a warning, and say what we feel we could never voice aloud.
My blessing to those who read this: Live each day as if you'll never have another just like it, because you won't. Hold tight to your friends, smile at everything and nothing, and do whatever makes you happy.
My warning: You must live each day as if it's your last. Sometimes people vanish and things break, and all you're left with is the memory of them.
What I must say is simply this: Lovino, I know you're going to read this, so this is for you. Every time I told you I love you, it was the whole truth. I treasured everything about you – your angry words that I know you never meant, the small gestures of kindness and concern you tried to brush off later, your very rare smile. You should smile more often, Lovi, especially now. The world needs more laughter and joy, now more than ever.
Lovi, I hope that you're around five hundred years from now, and happy, even if I'm not there with you. You're awake now, and we're both hungry, so I'll set this aside. I've said everything I've needed to, and I know that later, after I give this to you, explained the rules and gone off to find something else to do, you're going to turn to my pages right away, so just know that I love you, Lovi, no matter what.
I've said everything I can.
- Spain
-----
Author's Note
I wrote Spain's entry to be a lot lighter than Germany's on purpose; I don't think that Spain would see the ending of the world as a death setence for all humanity. Romano's entry is next.
