Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia at all. Nor do I own any NHL team, Golden Corral or whatever else is mentioned in this chapter.
A/N: I apologize for the longer wait. This week really has been crappy (& very stressful) for me. I don't know about you guys, but it's Easter break here, so it's as if my teachers felt that they should put all of my tests, quizzes, in-class essays and lab reports all in this week. Either way, it's done now. So I should be able to resume my weekly updates without any disruptions from now on. As a way to make amends, how 'bout I put up two chapters this week end? :D
On a more serious note….
Although my thoughts and prayers go to every single individual who has ever been affected by the despicable and heart-wrenching acts that stem from the sheer sadistic pleasure of terrorists, this chapter is dedicated to the victims and loved ones of the terror attacks that recently occurred in Brussels, Belgium.
BRUXELLES, NOUS T'AIMONS (Brussels, we love you).
Canadian Refuge
The time spent on board the aircraft had been rather uneventful, save the Canadian explaining now and then what state they were flying over. Alfred had met them there, at the terminal, before leading them towards a luxurious black SUV.
Once they settled themselves in the vehicle, the American spoke first. "So, Romano. I heard from my bro that this is going to be your first NHL experience. You excited? This game won't be as action-packed as compared to, say, Montreal versus Boston, but it's still sure to be interesting."
Romano simply scowled, not wanting to converse with the wheat-blond more than necessary.
That had been enough to trigger laughter from the American. "Dude, you should learn how to loosen up a little; we're gonna watch some hockey, not enter a war."
A thin auburn eyebrow twitched, irritated; this was going to be a long day.
The things he endured for Matthew's sake…
The feeling of warm air gracing his tanned skin after almost a week of freezing Canadian weather (at least, that was according to his standards) was more than appreciated. The Italian had to admit; the American was lucky that there were parts of his country that were hot and sunny all year round, contrary to his Northern twin.
The car, after having transported the trio from the Phoenix airport to Glendale, was now parked in the American's driveway.
"This is a house?" Romano stared in awe at the mansion.
The Southern twin chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah. But it's nothing compared to the one in L.A. or the beach house I have in Florida. I still really love it here, though." He then took out a key and opened the door. "Anyways, since the game is only in a few hours, I thought we could eat at my place for the time being. Unless you'd rather go out?"
"Nah. Let's stay here and relax for a bit. No worries; I'll cook, Alfie," the Canadian volunteered.
"You sure? Y'all just arrived from a long flight. I know the time difference is only a couple of hours, but still…. Oh! I know! How 'bout we go to an all-you-can-eat buffet! There's a Golden Corral not too far away. The food's always good there! I think they're even giving away free bags of yeast rolls for a limited time only." He stopped to take a breath before blabbering some more. "It'll take about fifteen minutes by car to get from the restaurant to the arena, so we could relax here for a while first to unwind. Does that sound like a good plan or what?" he smirked, beaming with confidence.
The Canadian smiled approvingly, and nodded; Alfred, for once, had made sense.
South Italy, seeing this, sighed but nevertheless agreed as well.
"Alright folks, how 'bout we play some video games or watch a movie until then?"
"Al… we're not watching that. We're supposed to be relaxing, remember?"
The blue-eyed nation pouted. "Why not? I can only watch these things when I've got company." He rectified his words quickly, "It's not that I'm scared or anything. It's just more fun to watch it as a group, that's all." He waved the unconvinced faces of his guests off.
"Well… if you want horror so bad, all you gotta do is wait 'till the game starts and watch as my team crushes yours." The Canadian smirked, a competitive gleam in his eyes.
"Tch, I wouldn't count on it if I were you, bro," he responded with the same amount of fierceness.
The European, who was stuck sitting between the two on the American's living room sofa, sunk back in his seat.
'Dio, what did I get myself into now?'
Once they had found a table, the Southern twin practically sprinted towards the nearest food station. Seeing it was mostly salad, the nation moved off towards the fried foods section.
Once he was out of sight, the Canadian sat down next to the brunet. "I'm so sorry about him. I know he can be a handful at times, but he really is the best brother in the world."
"Don't worry about it. As long as you're around, I'm happy."
Matthew took a sharp intake of breath at that.
As quickly as he had left, the American came back and promptly sat down. "Dudes what are you still doing here? I had time to stack my plate and you guys are still sitting down. Speaking of that, you should get one of their steaks. They grill it on the spot for you." He cut into the meat. "Damn it. It's well-done; I asked for rare." He looked up from his plate and pointed at his brother's blush. "See! That's how red I wanted it." He suddenly got up from his seat. "Excuse me while I go get myself another steak…maybe telling the dude off while I'm at it," were his last words before leaving for a second time.
Romano smiled innocently. "I think I'll take tuo fratello's advice concerning the steak. You coming?"
The Northern nation laughed nervously, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Nah, go ahead. I'll just stay here and watch our table for now. Thanks."
The Italian nodded and walked away, thinking all the while of what he had just witnessed.
'Just because he got all flustered, it doesn't mean he has any feelings for me. I need to know for sure…. I have to tell him…' He then spotted the American, who was currently busy gazing in awe at the chocolate fountain.
'…Maybe I should wait until he's not around; hamburger-bastard, as stupid as he may seem, is not someone I would want as an enemy.'
Alfred, stomach satisfied and hands full with several bags of yeast rolls and freshly made cotton candy, walked at the front of the other two nations while laughing obnoxiously as per usual.
"Really Al? Did you have to take so many? It was supposed to be one bag of bread per group, you fat-ass."
"Pfft! As if you're any better whenever we go to the supermarket somewhere in Canada and you practically buy their entire stock of maple syrup. And for the record, they're called yeast rolls."
The Canadian's face turned red in embarrassment. "W-well at least maple syrup is good for you. I don't see any label saying 'multigrain' on any of those bags of yours."
The other twin promptly rolled his eyes. "Anyways, what's up with your boy toy over there. He hasn't said a word for like, the past hour. I'm surprised he's not the one bitching at me right now."
Matthew glared at him concerning the last remark, before turning towards his friend. "He's right. Are you okay? You're not usually this quiet."
The man in question seemed to come back to his senses. "Hmm? Oh, well… I was just thinking about something. Don't worry about it. So, are we going to the game now?" was the sly change of subject.
America turned his head around while still walking to study him for a moment, not quite believing the man's words, but not letting it show. "Yeah, it starts in about twenty minutes. But, we won't have to wait in line or anything if that's what you're concerned about. Me and Matthew here," he indicated the latter with his thumb, "have a VIP lounge just for us. Consider yourself lucky; we hardly ever bring guests along, let alone a fellow nation." He turned back around, while taking his car keys out to press the 'unlock' button.
The Italian let that sink in for a moment. Did this mean that the North American brothers perceived him as special? More so than the others? He hoped these assumptions were correct.
By the time they arrived to their private room, the arena was packed with hockey fans: most sporting the home jersey, a few here and there in red, blue and white while flashing a large 'C' on their chests.
Matthew had a good feeling about this game. His team was currently in the middle of a losing streak, yet it did nothing to dampen his faith.
"Watch and learn cowboy. Le Tricolore vont vous battre à plein fouet. J'te l'jure, frérot." Here began the Canadian's French outburst, fire burning in those normally kind amethyst eyes.
Romano resigned himself to sitting as far away from the North Americans as possible. He preferred not being within their spoken range of fire.
"Oh Mattie, Mattie, Mattie." The older blond sniggered. "When will you ever learn that my teams are better than yours."
"That's only because Canadians make up most of your teams, espèce d'enfoiré. De toute façon, des trente équipes de la LNH, seulement sept d'entre eux sont canadiennes. Crisse, c'est une injustice ! En tout cas, viens pas m'dire que tes joueurs sont meilleurs qu'les miens, parce que les Jeux Olympiques suggèrent le contraire, en passant."
"Dude… I know Montreal is a French city and all, but can you speak some English? I have no idea what the hell you're saying. How do you want me to retort to that if I don't understand shit all? Honestly Matt… you're so weird sometimes."
Matthew grumbled under his breath; he'd save his real insults for the game. It was starting soon anyways.
"And there goes goal number one! Alright boys, keep 'em comin'. Give daddy America some more so I can shove it down Matt's throat that my teams are better." He cackled maniacally.
Canada was fuming at this point, and it was only the first period. "HEILLE! RÉVEILLEZ-VOUS LES GARS! OUVREZ LES YEUX, TABARNAK!" He then turned to Alfred, roughly poking the American in the chest. "It's not over yet. Just you wait Alfred. I'm not losing to you. Not again."
"We'll see about that lil' bro." He rubbed the aching area.
"Don't call me 'bro'. This is war."
"Aw Mattie… don't be like that. You love me too much to ever mean it~" His voice dripped with poisoned sweetness. He then attempted to wrap him in a none too gentle hug.
"Ta gueule! Laisse-moi tranquille frère maudit."
Romano sighed from where he was sitting, which was as far away from the quarreling blonds as the spacious room could provide. He had given up since the end of the singing of the national anthems. His thoughts settling on that for a moment, he had to admit; both the American and Canadian anthems were charming to the ears. The sound of someone falling off their seat pulled him out of his reflections.
"OUCH! Matt, what the actual fuck? You didn't have to shove me so hard. I hate it when you use your hockey strength on me. How 'bout a head's up next time." The American rubbed his sore bottom.
The other blond scoffed. "I told you to leave me alone. Don't you know by now that you d- YES!" He suddenly jumped up in the air. "Way to go Weise! Now, we're tied 1-1. Suck on that Al!" He aggressively pointed at the sulking American in question.
Lovino sighed once more, the mild annoyance that had been present on his facial features fading into a solemn glower. This was going to be the longest sporting event he had ever attended, it seemed.
The game ended with a score of 6-2 in the American's favor.
Matthew, being the good sport that he was, congratulated his brother with, nevertheless, a hint of competitiveness.
"By the way, are you guys coming to the game on the 17th? It's your French team again but versus the Colorado Avalanche... and I think it's in Montreal this time."
The Canadian, still in hockey mode, whirled around. "Okay Alfred. Let this be the last time I say it: people in Quebec are not necessarily 'French'. They're French-speaking. Learn the difference, imbécile." He then locked eyes with the Italian, while still conversing with America. "I think it's time we head back to Canada. I'm planning on taking Romano skiing on the 17th. So, I don't know if we'll be too tired to go, but come over anyways. We could always crash at my house and watch the game on my flat screen."
The American tapped his chin with his forefinger in thought, before his eyes lit up. "How about I just take the plane ride with you guys back to Montreal? That way, it's less of a hassle for me. Then after the game, I could go visit my 5th Avenue penthouse in New York City or something. I haven't been there in a while surprisingly, and it's only six hours away by car. You still have the motorbike I left in your garage from last year's Christmas special marathon, right?"
Romano's interest was piqued at the last remark. Just how often did these two see each other? They seemed to be especially close compared to how they acted during meetings.
Canada, sensing his friend's confusion, informed him. "Al and I always spend Christmas together. It's become a tradition. The only times we don't is when something is keeping us apart, like with what happened during both World Wars. But even at that, we made up for those times by celebrating other things together."
America continued where his brother left off. "Yeah. I know we don't show it much, but we're almost always together. We figured that we were better off not letting other nations know that, in case they wanted to use it against us. So many of them dislike me that it's a possibility that they would use Mattie against me to get what they want. You could never be too careful around the others."
"Then why are you telling me this?" asked the Italian, his brows knitting from a lack of comprehension.
Alfred grinned, a mischievous gleam in his baby blues. "Because I know you won't utter a word of what I just said to anyone else."
The Italian's eyes thinned into slits, now suspicious. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"
The American suddenly became uncharacteristically serious, his tone confident. "I know for a fact that you would never cause any form of pain upon my brother. Furthermore, hurting me would mean hurting Mattie as well, so you would never target me either."
The European's sole reaction was the tanned color of his skin turning to a berry cherry red. He was at a rare loss for words. After all, what could he even respond to that? The American had just hit the nail on the head.
"I thought as much," continued the superpower, a hint of satisfaction lacing his voice.
Matthew, not catching the hidden meaning behind the seemingly innocent exchange, simply smiled. "I'm so glad both of you are playing nice with each other. Concerning your earlier proposition Al, I think it's a great idea. It'll conserve so much fuel to have you travel along with us."
Said person reverted back to his usual rambunctious self. "Sure thing bro! It'll be awesome! Oh, you know what we should do tomorrow?" He then answered his own question without waiting for an answer, "We should show Romano the Botanical Gardens and that place with all the creepy crawlers…. What's its name… the Insectarium! There you go! I never forget things for long."
'Except for me,' the Northern twin immediately thought, before agreeing out loud. "That's such a good idea! I guess it had slipped my mind." He turned to the Italian. "The Insectarium, the Planetarium, the Biodome and the Botanical Gardens are all places near the Olympic village. Together, they make up 'Espace pour la vie, Montréal', which in English is called 'Space for Life, Montreal'. Right now at the Gardens, they have this exposition on butterflies called 'Papillons en liberté', the English version of its name being 'Butterflies Go Free'." He thought for a moment. "Wait, this exhibit only opens on February 18th. I'm afraid we can't go." His bottom lip protruded in a pout.
Alfred, in a hero stance, made sure no one was around before announcing loudly, "Not to worry Mattie! We're nations, so we could obviously get special treatment! VIPs for as long as we live, bro!" He then flashed his pearly whites, almost blinding Romano in the process.
The Canadian was clearly not on the same page. "Alfred, unlike you, I don't use my status to do or get whatever I want."
The United States snorted. "God, you're such a killjoy, I swear. Obviously, you've just gotta be a model citizen. Have you ever thought of having some fun once in a while, or is there a permanent stick up your ass?" He hoped that would anger his brother enough into submitting.
Matthew crossed his arms and sighed; he knew his brother's tactics like the back of his hand. "If you're trying to get me mad Al, I'll have you know that it's not working. However, you're right. I should take advantage of my nation status for once." He shook his head while smiling, practically feeling the excitement radiating off of his twin. His next words, "I'll make it happen. You can count on that," had the American fist-pumping in the air, and the Canadian laughing at his brother's antics as a result.
Romano made no comment and resolved himself to his fate; once more, he would be dragged around the city by the Canadian, with the addition of the American this time around.
Either way, he was sure he would enjoy himself; who could ever dislike butterflies?
After spending the night at the American's luxurious home, the flight back the next morning occurred, for the most part, in a similar way to the previous one, yet this time with an obnoxious third party on board.
Matthew was in the aircraft bathroom when Romano approached the American, smoothly sitting by his side. He stared at Alfred – who was currently playing a videogame on one of the many gadgets he owned – for a moment, while taking the time to choose his words carefully. He had no intention of ticking off the other nation.
Feeling eyes on him, the blond took his headphones off and waited for the Italian to speak first.
The darker nation took a calming intake of breath. "I've had this on my mind for a while now…. Remember when you woke me up the other day at Matthew's house, when it was 10 in the morning?" At a nod from the flaxen, he continued. "Before you told me about how much your twin appreciated my cooking, you mentioned that the reason why you were there was to bring back his car and to get your…"
"My chopper. It's an other word for helicopter."
"Yeah, that. You wanted to get it back." He paused for a moment. "My question is: why did you have his car in the first place? I mean, from what I know, Matthew only has one car." He looked away. "He told me he had gone to see his boss that day. He didn't mention you at all."
America leaned forward, as if to tell a secret. "He lied."
South Italy, not liking where this was going, hid the betrayal he was now feeling, and asked, "What do you mean by that?"
The American nation sighed, closing his eyes for a moment while leaning back in his seat. He checked to make sure that Matthew was still in the restroom before answering. "He was at my house. And not for the reason you think," he was quick to reassure him. "Mattie came by because he thought you were distancing yourself from him, that you were trying to gently let him go before leaving him."
"What? I wa-"
"I know that's not what you were trying to do," the American interrupted. "I know. He doesn't, though." He threaded his hand through his golden locks. "He is completely oblivious to anything concerning matters of the heart, but I see the way you look at him. You've been in love with him for so long, and he still has no clue." He then abruptly covered the Italian's mouth, effectively silencing him. "Yes, I know that too. I mean honestly, did you really think that I wouldn't have noticed? Mattie is basically everything to me. He's the only one I trust, the only one that I am certain won't ever turn his back on me. People may see America as this great nation, a land where people can prosper and make better lives for themselves and their families…. 'The American Dream', you know? Yet, a lot of people hate me. And in this crazy world we live in, the only one I can truly depend on even when things turn to shit is him. So, of course, it's only normal that I pay close attention to the people around him." He glanced towards the washroom once more, while bringing his hand back. "Anyways, he's way more than just a brother to me. I'll admit that he slips my mind now and then, but he knows that I'm doing everything I can to put a stop to that. He understands how hard it is to be me, how everyone always accuses me of every fuckup that happens in this world." He ground his teeth together at that, before snapping out of his thoughts to get to his point. "Regardless, I want him to be happy. He needs someone that'll see him for him, not someone that'll mistake him for me, or use him just to get to me. A nation that's completely devoted to him, other than myself. I mean, he's aware of how important he is to me. Therefore…" he drawled. "From what I've seen so far, and from what he's told me over the years, you fit that profile the best. He trusts you, and I think he may even love you. Thing is, he'll never realize it if you don't make the first move." He sighed again. "This is all because he's used to people not even sparing him a second glance… or a single glance for that matter. He firmly believes that no one could ever genuinely love him due to all of the neglect he's suffered throughout his lifetime." He bit his lip to keep them from trembling, regret clearly visible in his eyes before he looked to the side. "I've been so busy trying to become great and do some good for the world, that I, myself, hurt him on a few occasions. Naturally, he always forgives me, but I can't forgive myself. Do you know what it's like to have your brother coming to you crying because other nations have picked on him from mistaking him for you? Or to have your own twin live in your shadow because you're the world's superpower, because nations listen to you the most? Because of me, my brother has been hurt so many times. The worst in all of this is that he never blames me for anything. Sure, he'll tell me off in the heat of the moment whenever he's pissed off, but once he calms down, he never actually says it's my fault."
Baby blue then clashed with hazel, the American as serious as the brunet had ever seen him. "That's why I'm going to help you in every way I can. You've never hurt him the way I have. So, I think you could really change the way he sees the world, make him see how wrong he is whenever he's in a slump thinking he's doomed to an immortal life of neglect and abandon."
He then took the revolver he had thus far concealed under his bomber jacket, stroking it casually. "I'm confident that you could be that special person, the one that could alter his life for the better. However, if you end by giving up on him like all of those other scum for nations have, I can assure you that you'll wish you could be mortal from the number of times I'll kill you. I mean, there are just so many ways one could die, don't you think? I wouldn't mind testing them all out…"
Romano made sure not to let any of the fear he was currently feeling show through his eyes, and scoffed while crossing his arms. "I'd never hurt him, remember? You said that yourself before." He mumbled the rest, "Besides, I'd let you commit the worst atrocities to my person if ever I so much as make him cry."
The American whistled, surprised, before adding, "Damn… you're in it deep, dude."
The tanned nation huffed and promptly went back to his previous seat just as, coincidentally, the Canadian opened the door to the washroom with a 'click'.
The older blond spoke first. "What the hell, bro? What took you so long? You were in there for like, forever."
The Canadian rubbed his neck sheepishly. "My fly wouldn't close. It got stuck in the fabric…" Thoroughly embarrassed, he made his way towards his seat.
The rest of the flight went by without further incident.
End of Chapter Six – Fin du Chapitre Six
Translations:
Le Tricolore vont vous battre à plein fouet. J'te l'jure, frérot." – 'The Tricolor will beat you head-on. I swear to you, bro'. The French expression 'battre à plein fouet' means 'to beat head-on' in this context, but word for word, it literally translates to 'to beat full-on by whip'. God, all of the French in this chapter is such Quebec slang. I got such a kick from writing this stuff, haha.
(…), espèce d'enfoiré. De toute façon, des trente équipes de la LNH, seulement sept d'entre eux sont canadiennes. Crisse, c'est une injustice ! En tout cas, viens pas m'dire que tes joueurs sont meilleurs qu'les miens, parce que les Jeux Olympiques suggèrent le contraire, en passant. – '(…), you jerk/bastard. Either way, from the thirty NHL teams, only seven of them are Canadian. Damn, that's an injustice! In any case, don't come to me saying your players are better than mine, because the Olympic Games suggest the opposite, by the way'. LOL more Quebec French… if my readers from France are reading this, you guys must think this sounds so bad XD. But it's the way we talk here!
HEILLE! RÉVEILLEZ-VOUS LES GARS! OUVREZ LES YEUX, TABARNAK! – 'HEY! WAKE UP BOYS/GUYS! OPEN YOUR EYES, DAMMIT!' ...Yeah, I had way too much fun with this. By the way, Quebec swear words are complete blasphemy (even though I put the word 'dammit', you can't even translate these swear words into English, since they're distinctly Québécois). And I know for a fact that we have a pretty bad reputation concerning this. Hell, I once met this Mexican dude (he was an exchange student) and he told me that people in his town call Quebecers the 'Tabarnacos', because we're known to them for saying the word 'tabarnak/tabarnacle' a lot… *sweatdrops* I hope not all Mexicans call us that, even though it is kinda funny…
Ta gueule! Laisse-moi tranquille frère maudit – 'Shut up! Leave me alone damned brother'.
imbécile– 'imbecile/moron'.
Details to better understand the story:
Golden Corral, the buffet I mentioned, is like the best place ever. Whenever I go to Florida, I make it a point to go there only once. The sheer amount of desserts (they have good food too, but… I'm a huge chocoholic) they have is awesome! They literally have a chocolate fountain where you can dip either strawberries, marshmallows, rice crispy squares or pineapples on a stick (Or at least, the one I go to has those options). And they even make fresh cotton candy on the spot for you (that's why Alfred was carrying a couple of bags of that)! It's true; they did give away bags of yeast rolls last year, but not this year. Still, I felt like I had to mention that in the story for some odd reason…. I guess to give it this more 'American' feel. I dunno. Either way, I hope some of you smiled in recognition.
The Montreal Canadiens' jersey is red, blue and white (which is why we call them the 'Tricolore'), and has a large 'C' at the front representing the team logo.
The Montreal Canadiens really did play against the Colorado Avalanche on the 17th of February. But it was played in Colorado, not Montreal like I say in the story. It's just, for the sake of the plot, I have to have the three come back to Canada.
One last thing: I know I make it seem that way, but Alfred isn't in love with Canada … at least not in this story hehe. He's just a protective and over-affectionate brother, that's all.
A/N: To all of the Belgians, French, Americans, and others who have been affected by terrorism, I hope you can all feel the moral support I'm sending your way (if that even makes sense to any of you). I tried to make these upcoming chapters, in particular, especially beautiful. What I mean by that is… I tried to put as many of the beauties of life, the positive things worth fighting for, in this work. Because to me, this is more than just a little fiction project; it's a way for me to transmit my thoughts and hopes. It's, in a way, my view of Canada and of the culture here, of course, but it's also a written version of how I see the world we live in. From the events that occurred in Belgium this week, I've heard people voice how scared they are that something like that could happen here in Canada. Of course it could happen here; it'd be foolish to think otherwise (it's not as if it's never occurred here; it's just, so far, always been on a smaller scale, than say, Paris). The undeniable truth is; it could strike anywhere. Yet, when I compare terrorism, which is caused by a small percentage of hateful individuals (I don't think they can even be considered human from how senseless their actions are), to the beautiful elements that make up our daily lives, I don't feel as worried. Why let them accomplish their goal of spreading terror around the world when we are so much more than that, so much better and stronger than they could ever even wish to be? These extremists are ignorant to anything other than violence and hatred. They simply take innocent lives as they see fit and think nothing of the consequences. That is their mistake; they don't see how our love for one in other, solidarity, will to fight, and determination in overcoming this is getting stronger and stronger with each victim they make, whether it be in Turkey, Syria, Cameroon, Lebanon or the U.S.
I have so so so much more to say, but let that be my message of the day.
As a last note, I read the daily newspaper literally every day, and this poem was in this Friday's paper. It speaks to me so much and reminds me particularly of New York that I felt I just had to include it here. Obviously, it's in French, but I took the liberty of translating it in English for you guys. It's not the most heartfelt or 'deep' poetic work I've ever read, but it served its purpose.
Although I was but a small child at the time, 9/11 hit home pretty hard, and still does whenever it becomes the subject of conversation. I guess whenever something happens in America, we Canadians feel and mourn along too, and vice versa (we do the same thing for other countries too, but the States is just a different story) …
Pour Bruxelles (For Brussels)
Dans la Bruxelles matinale (On a Brussels morning)
c'était une journée banale (it was an ordinary day)
T'étais rêveur, pas soldat (You were a dreamer, not a soldier)
T'allais au boulot, pas au combat (You were heading off to work, not to combat/battle)
T'avais sûrement dit à ta femme « Je rentre pas tard, à ce soir » (You had probably told your wife "I won't come home late, see you tonight")
T'aurais pu traîner un peu (You could have wandered around for a bit)
Perdre une minute sous le ciel bleu (To lose a minute under the blue sky)
C'est le hasard, le destin (It is at random, destiny)
Ta vie s'arrête ce matin (Your life ends this morning)
Mais le plus terrible, vraiment (But the worst, really)
C'est pour ceux qui vont vivre sans (is for those who will live without)
un papa, une maman, (a daddy, a mommy)
un frangin qu'ils aimaient tant (a brother/bro they loved so dearly)
Ce mépris de la vie humaine (This disregard/disdain for human life)
n'est écrit sur aucune page (is not written on any page)
C'est de la violence et de la haine (This is violence and hatred)
à l'évidence, pas du courage (clearly, not courage)
Les hommes naissent libres et égaux (Men are born free and equal)
Certains naissent cons (Some are born stupid/mindless)
C'est pas nouveau (That's not new)
Alors non, ça ne sert pas à rien (So no, it is not for nothing)
De faire des dessins, des refrains (to draw pictures, to create choruses/refrains),
d'illuminer la tour Eiffel (to illuminate/light up the Eiffel Tower)
aux couleurs du drapeau belge (with the colors of the Belgian flag),
de boire des cafés, comme avant (to drink coffees, like before),
dans les rues du Bataclan (in the streets of the Bataclan),
d'allumer briquets et bougies (to light up lighters and candles)
en souvenir d'Hervé Gourdel (in memory of Hervé Gourdel),
de brandir « Je suis Charlie » (to flourish/brandish "I am Charlie"),
« Je suis Tunis » ("I am Tunis"),
« Je suis Bruxelles » ("I am Brussels")
Ne pas avoir peur, (To not be scared)
ce serait fou (would be crazy)
Mais à trop trembler, (But by trembling too much)
on vit à genoux (we end up by living on our knees)
Et c'est quand elle (And it is when she (In this case, I think 'she' replaces 'ville', which means city. The word 'ville' is feminine, so it'd sorta make sense))
est attaquée (is attacked)
qu'on se rappelle (that we remember)
la chance que c'est (how lucky we are)
de respirer la liberté (to breathe in freedom),
de marcher libre dans les allées (to walk freely down the alleys)
Avec l'image dans le cœur à jamais (With the image forever in our hearts)
L'image de ceux qui sont tombés (The image of those who have fallen)
Qu'étaient rêveurs (Those who were dreamers),
pas soldats (not soldiers)
Qu'allaient au boulot (Those who were heading off to work),
pas au combat (not to combat/battle)
-François Crimon, 26 ans (26 years old), Paris
Dreaming of a world devoid of senseless bloodshed,
~SailorHikarinoMu