Chapter 11: What a nation is
Antonio did not feel helpless or ashamed. No, there was nothing but fury boiling his blood. Deeply, like there was itch that you couldn't reach, couldn't find. But that was happening all over in a kind of hot madness. These small acts of inhumanity made him feel more disgusted than even during his time sailing on the seas as a pirate.
And at that time there were periods of pillaging and murder than elapsed into massacres and prolonged periods of torturing. He wasn't proud by any stretch, but at least he knew it was wrong.
Right now, his people weren't anything except wrong.
It hurt him, this kind of thing always hurt more than getting physically wounded. To a nation, material wounds would heal, but memories... memories never went away. No matter how much you wanted them to leave, the never left. Sometimes a country would forget, if they were lucky, until it was all brought back in one vicious swoop like this.
Antonio had almost forgotten.
He crouched and and slammed the ground. There was so, so much pain in revisiting this time. He clutched his head and stared wide eyed into the dirt, wishing that the screams in his ears would stop, all the suffering cries of victims of the crews that landed on these shores. He doubted he would forget them again.
Today it would be almost the 1500s, maybe it was 1500 by now, when Christopher Columbus had sailed the ocean blue for India only to end up at America. Instead of America of course, he had hit Haiti though at this point.
And he had desecrated Haiti.
The Spanish had almost destroyed Haiti.
Now, a hot haze filled his head and made his head swell out, making his whole skull throb. There was black at the edge of his vision, but neither helped to calm the burn throughout his body. Tears never stopped calling while his body was ridden with thick shivers.
A mocking breeze went by, calmly shaking the trees while he crouched in a cage of heat and guilt. By now he could taste fire, smelling the burning scents from earlier.
He should go out and set those ships, all that had brought the disease-ridden, menos que tierra, atroz, explorers, on fire and watch it sink and party while they burned.
Si, esupendo! That was just what he would do.
The natives could actually live then. In happiness and safety, far from servitude while the Spanish perished. Did Antonio care for his people's deaths at this time?
Absolutamente la cogida no.
There was more to a nation than his people sometimes, and there were more people in a nation than you'd think. Throughout history, every country, empire even, had had a leader or groups they found deplorable.
And there wasn't a day that went by that they didn't think of getting rid of them.
Other times, people defined a nation, and changed one; the nation and the personification.
But just as that thought clicked into place, of red and broken hands and burning ships, and made his whole person feel full and satisfied with the thought, someone gently placed a hand on his figure. His head swung up, startling the person and sending them into the foliage.
"Fuck, you bastard! Maybe I shoudn't have come after all," Lovino grumbled. Antonio was shellshocked and his plan short wired looking at him.
"Wha, what are you doing here?" he mused. Wiping himself off, the brunette crossed his arms.
"I guess I'll just fucking leave."
"No! No. Please, don't go," Antonio stopped him and let out a shaky breath. He collapsed onto his back on the ground. His arm went to cover his eyes from the light, but it was already turning dark. "I hate them," he said forcefully.
Lovino's face twisted. "I can just leave your shitty ass alone."
"Not you," Antonio corrected. He sighed. "Just all those leaders y mierdas despreciable," His voice picked up and sped up at the end as it changed to Spanish. "They are not me," he said to convince Lovino. "There are not me," he said softly, to convince himself.
Lovino did not acknowledge him but replied quietly, "None of us are."
Not that it would get through to him. Instead, he let Antonio's head fall onto his chest with minimal profanities and complaints. He was only this kind because the whole thing screamed similarities when compared to the earth-shattering and world-changing situation that he had been forced through earlier. And really to everything he had felt at one point or another.
Holding him, as he sat silently on his knees, Lovino gave a deep, thoughtful sigh and left them with the words, "Que sera, sera."
Walking back to the group was a silent affair.
Menos que tierra, atroz (Spanish) - Less than dirt, atrocious
Si, estupendo (Spanish) - Yes, great
Absolutamente la cogida no (Spanish) - Absolutely the fuck not
Y mierdas despreciable (Spanish) - And despicable shit
Que sera, sera (Spanish) - What will be, will be
This a more general chapter, something I think all the nations deal with, ya know?
By the way, Spain is so... outspoken because he had alcohol (and if you know Hetalia specifics, Spain gets super scary when he drinks)
Awww but isn't Spain still so nice
If you're Spanish and I offended you either with the history or the terrible translations, just remember this is for fun. Anything that has happened in the past is done
Thanks and comment who you wanna learn about next