Oh, my gosh.
I am terribly sorry for updating this just now. A lot has happened within the past year, and I only found time now to be able to update this.
Moving on, here is the final season, Winter. Enjoy.
Winter
Winter is the coldest of all the seasons. For some places there may be snow, for others there may simply be a drop in temperature. Still, the common ground is that winter will leave you shivering and asking for some warmth, be it whatever form or from whatever source. It is not only the coldest in terms of physical temperatures, but also in emotional and spiritual meanings as well. For those who have a source of warmth like their families, then blessed be those souls, for they do not suffer the pains of winter's bitter cold. However, there are those who have nobody or nothing to give them the much-needed comfort from the unforgiving temperatures. For those people, nobody is present to give them a smile, or a hug, because they stand alone in this world, fending only for themselves. Some of these people were abandoned by their warmth, cut off from them like the younger leaf that left its older companion, severed completely like a limb that had no more use. For some of these people, they cannot stand a life without warmth, and simply cry, pitying themselves and mourning for the lack of someone to give them even just a simple hug. Yet for some, they must keep a straight face and face the world, appearing to be perfectly fine, but deep down, dying from the cold.
The cold snow crunched against Yao's shoes as he walked back to his palace in his army uniform. "Aiyaa," he said. "It's so cold, aru."
Looking around, he saw nothing but silver, white and gray, and felt nothing but cold against his exposed face and hands. The trees had no leaves; its branches were covered with snow. The sky was grayish-white, and upon looking at it, there was a sense of foreboding that one could feel. When he finally came upon the palace doors, he hesitated for awhile, and sat down on the porch. As he did, he looked around once more, and put a hand by the spot next to him, remembering who sat there a long, long time ago.
He remembered how they first met.
His speech was stopped by a peculiar sight: a young boy, no older than three, was standing at a grove of thick bamboo stalks, face stoic but eyes betraying the feeling of fear.
Moved by the boy's appearance, Yao approached him and said, "Ni hao, aru~ I am China. You can call me Yao. It must have been very difficult for you to be born in such an area. If you want, you can come home with me, so you'll have a safe place to stay, aru. What's your name, by the way?"
The child looked at Yao with his expressionless brown eyes and said, "Hello, China-of-where-the-sun-sets. I am Japan, of-where-the-sun-rises."
He then remembered how that same person began to grow in the following years.
"This is a wonderful invention, aru~!" Yao said as he admired the puppet that Japan built to serve tea that afternoon. "A great display of ingenuity by my little brother!" he said, praising the invention once more.
"Thank you, Yao-san," Japan replied, a small smile forming on his lips. "I am glad you like it."
And he remembered how, not too long ago, that person grew into something more profound.
Japan and China sat by their porch, watching the brown leaves fall slowly from the branches, contemplating on why the leaves turn brown and fall every year.
"Why do you think it happens, Yao-san?" Japan asked, eyeing one particularly lifeless leaf by his foot.
"Hm…" China said, in deep thought. "Maybe it is because the old leaves have served their purpose, and that it is time for the young ones to take their place…" he said, wondering if what he just did made any sense.
"Is it not always like that, Yao-san? Even with the birds, the butterflies…and humans too?" Japan questioned the older, wiser man.
"You are right, Japan…." China said, trailing off.
"Speaking of serving their purpose…what do you plan to do next, Japan?" China asked his younger brother.
"The Westerners are beginning to take over our Asian brothers and sisters, and I do not like the way it is turning out to be."
China could sense the seriousness in Japan's voice. "So what do you plan to do about it?"
"I must become stronger, Yao-san," Japan said, determination in his tone. "I must have enough strength to resist the Westerners' influence."
And now here he was, sitting alone in the dark, feeling that hauntingly empty spot where Japan used to sit during the afternoons. He remembered his little brother with a bittersweet feeling. Now, they were against each other in this war…He could not believe it himself, his innocent little brother growing to change so fast into a stranger. Not able to take any more, Yao began to cry. He did not sob or sniff, he simply let the tears fall from his brown eyes onto that beloved spot, mourning for his loss, and his loneliness. The winds howled; the snow fell, the ice cold temperature sliced against his unprotected face, neck and hands. Snow dropped onto his head, chilling him even more, but nothing could move him more than the feeling of his brother, now his enemy…and if they lost this war, perhaps his executioner.
He did not know how long he must have sat there, but when he was finally done, the sky was dark, and everything was dangerous as the night now.
With a final sigh, he stood up and retreated into the palace, lost and defeated.