Chapter 2
Week two of the World Cup and already it's produced some shockers! Dark horses meet high expectations while other nations come up short. Many more chapters to come.
The pubs had been depressingly quiet as he slumped through the streets of his country. Dusk slipped away from the horizon as the ever appropriate darkness covered the sky. He muttered incomprehensible words, beer bottle in hand. Europe would mock him for years to come. He kept walking, though. He didn't want to stop. He didn't want to accept the fact that his short run was over. So he kept walking.
France had just finished cheering for his team's second goal in a row when he heard a thump against his door. Smirking, he went to go open it.
"Well well, Switzerland, 'ave you come to surren-"
He immediately stopped talking and stared. It was none other than England who stood leaning against the doorframe, obviously drunk. France took this opportunity to finally give his rival a taste of his own medicine.
"Oho, look who's sorry excuse for a country showed…up…"
England had looked up at him and given him such a sorrowful expression that it stopped France in his tracks. The poor man had been damaged enough already.
"Ah…come in."
Unfortunately for England as soon as he entered the house he heard a mighty yell from France.
"GOAL! WE HAVE THREE!" France immediately forgot about the Englishman and jumped over his couch to sit back down, giddy with excitement. England groaned, his head pounding.
"Sorry, mon ami…"
"…Whatever," he mumbled. The halftime whistle blew and France applauded at the screen. England came over and slumped next to him, taking a swig from his bottle. France looked at him silently, angry at himself for pitying him. This was his chance of a lifetime! He could have easily hit him while he was down. But…
"I'm sorry."
France gaped at him. "Excusez-moi?"
"I'm sorry for calling you out during the group drawing. I should keep my mouth shut," he slurred.
The Frenchman chuckled. "I-well, I can't say I would have done the same thing now, can I?"
"Yeah…thanks for that."
"It won't be like this from now on, though. Just tonight." France sipped from his glass of wine.
England smirked. "You can bloody well believe it."
The game started up again and they both turned their attention to the screen.
"Well, at least you aren't Spain."
England started giggling and France joined in. Soon they were both laughing, tears in their eyes.
"Where is that git by the way, I need to give him a good earful," he joked.
"Oh trust me; I heard that as soon as the game ended Netherlands burst into his home with an air horn and started laughing maniacally and shouting who knows what. The next morning Spain found the numbers '5-1' spray painted on his garage door!" France explained.
England turned to him. "Mind telling me about the other little 'incident?'"
"Oh, you mean the words 'World Champions 2014' painted on the Barcelona Cathedral? Oui, after their elimination, we Europeans thought it was only right…" France chuckled.
"Hah, I could only imagine seeing Germany or Greece doing something like that."
But before France could say anything, his team had scored again.
"GOOAALL!"
"Oh, bloody hell!"
Les Blues fan punched his fist into the air. "Zis is the best game so far!" Outside his window he thought he heard a distant yell from a certain neighboring country.
"What the hell are the Swiss doing? This is embarrassing," England added, not bothering to look at the screen. That was a mistake. Suddenly France screamed even louder.
"MON DIEU! AGAIN! IT'S 5-0!" He started dancing around the room. The Brit could not believe his eyes. How is this even possible?
This game was only going to get better however, because no sooner than France had sat down, Switzerland scored.
"Oh finally!"
"I-it's just a consolation goal, mon frère!"
"Ah yes, like this one too?"
5-2.
France laughed. "Agh, this is game is too crazy… I need a drink."
The final minutes of the game were spent with the two men chatting away about the Swiss defense, and the game ended with the same score. No sooner had it ended Italy burst through the door.
"Big brother! I just watched the game and it was amazing! Complimenti!" He then realized there was someone else in the room. Someone who happened to be glaring daggers at him.
"Oh…hi England…" he smiled weakly. England growled and jumped up in a drunken rage.
"It's all your fault, you know! If only you had won that stupid game against Costa Rica then I would STILL BE IN THE BLOODY WORLD CUP!"
He grabbed his empty bottle and smashed it on the floor. He looked at the broken shards for a second while both France and Italy gaped in horror. Then he fell to his knees and started sobbing.
"He's…really drunk."
"Si… I should probably go now," the Italian whimpered. He opened the door and ran out. France sighed and bent down next to the broken man.
"You shouldn't bring Italy into this, his team tried as hard as they could. He had no control over it."
England sniffled. "But all my dreams are…are gone. We've never lost two games in a row before…"
France listened while picking up the shattered pieces. "There's always the next one, right? You used to always tell me that after I lost… in a less sympathetic way of course."
"I said I was sorry frog!" he buried his head in his arms. "And if America goes through I'll never hear the end of it."
The Frenchman smiled. "Well yes, that is true. But you can deal with him. You always do."
So if you didn't know already, England lost their games against Italy and Uruguay which means they are out of the World Cup. The same thing happened to Spain as they were beaten 5-1 by Holland and lost to Chile. I was literally watching the France vs Switzerland game as I was typing this, which was hard because goals were being scored right and left XD More chapters to come soon.
