Ch. 9- Coughing up Flames
Sweden was lying in the bed in the exact same position he had held these past weeks. His mind was wandering outside the again, travelling along the dew- dampened grass, peering at the birds who flew gracefully above him. The songs from the birds made their way to his ears, and he imagined himself whistling back humbly.
The Swede's body was numb. Seeing Finland leave like that had broken his heart. He knew the Finn only wanted to help, but picking a fight with Denmark just wasn't sensible. Before he had left, several duels against the Swede and the Dane had commenced. With only a few exceptions, the Swede had lost every time. Sweden's build was larger than Finland, he had the height and muscles the Finn lacked.
Yes, Finland did have incredible, almost super human strength. But Denmark wasn't just made up of muscles and strength, his speed was highly ranked as well. Not that Finland wasn't quick on his feet, he was, Denmark was just… Higher ranked.
Sweden had to do something. He refused to lay here in his sickbed while there was a possibility his beloved wife could be having his face pounded any minute now.
He cleared his head. Slowly, the Sweden painfully inched his way into a sitting position. He winced, and then sat up all the way. The pain was almost unbearable. It felt as if someone had ripped his chest open, started a fire in his torso, then clumsily stitched him back up.
Sweden swept his feet off the bed and onto the cold floorboards. Standing up felt magnificent, he was finally looking down at the furniture instead of just at it. The feeling of magnificence stopped, however, as a wave of pain struck his body.
It felt as if the fire was travelling up his scorched throat now. He had to release the flames. So he bent over and opened his mouth as he coughed up specks of warm, sticky blood.
He took a breath. It shattered his dying lungs. Somewhere far off, a Danish bomb was hitting a beloved country.
