It's a familiar feeling, this dry and aged fatigue. It comes sparse in dispersion, and isn't default, but he still feels like he knows it too well. And when the withering moments do come, it's then he remembers that he's old, and tired, and all he wants is to let go. He's still so young though, compared to the rest, so that makes it crass to confess this to them. But France casts a knowing eye (he's always been able to read him too well), and smirks at him down the hall.
England's blood boils then, and to hell with it all. He's never cared what France thinks anyways, doesn't give a damn. And on any other given day, a diminutive voice, the petite rationale, should have skirted the edge of his conscience (bad habits are hard to lose, it reminds), but right now he can't bring himself to care. If he can't have that, then let him have this, the universe owes him that much. That meaning... well, that, of course (him, if he wants to be honest with himself, but of course he never is).
The universe doesn't care.
France listens. Just as the last time, and the time before that. Wordless for once, watching, soundless, as penitence stains England's lips. Charring the sky with a reticent voice that comes dull, and ardorless, so unlike him. A younger France would have sneered at him then, at the salient ages between them. Reveling in his foreign pain with a sadistically sensuous lust. But he's grown since then, though, and somewhat matured, and now he thinks of Gaul, and Britannia, and Rome. He thinks of Joan, and 1812, and how England still carries a locket with Elizabeth's portrait in his pocket that he doesn't think anyone knows about. He thinks of Flanders and Belgique, and of a tiny, infant Angleterre, who's eyes seemed to age a thousand years on the day that Boudicca fell.
Perhaps, he's come to realize, there's a point at which age reaches irrelevance, because each of them is as irreparably broken as the next. So now he just sits, listens, au lieu du contraire, the universe owes them that much. And their vigor returns with the morrow.
The universe doesn't care.
"If you stare at the center of the universe, there is coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn't care about us. Time doesn't care about us. That's why we have to care about each other." -David Levithan
A/N:
Somewhat inspired by Nietzsche's writings.
Guys, I'd really appreciate it if I got a review every once in while. It's not like I'm going to stop writing if I don't get any; I'm going to keep writing regardless; it's just that it gets a little disheartening not to hear from anyone because I don't know if people are liking the stories. I really enjoy constructive criticism, so if you think there's something I could be doing better, please let me know! :)
Historical Notes:
Gaul was a region that used to cover France (& many of its surrounding countries) during antiquity. The Romans conquered & ruled over them from around 50BC to the late 400s, when the Franks took over the area. Britannia was the name the Romans gave to the territory they conquered of the British Isles.
1812 is a reference to when Britain & Napoleonic France were stuck in a stalemate & were trying to gain advantage by weakening eachother's economy. This eventually caused France to get in a war with Russia, and England to get in a war with America (Patriotic War of 1812 & Anglo-American War of 1812, respectively) in attempt to gain economic support. And many other factors as well, I just super-simplified.
Flanders was one of many reasons for the Hundred Years' War (France had recently conquered the region, & Britain wanted to take from them). It is currently a part of Belgium. Belgium is one of the reasons the UK joined WWI (the Germans violated their neutrality, which Britain had promised to protect).
~Jasmina Lejandra