HETALIA BELONGS TO HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA
THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST IS BROADCASTED BY THE EUROPEAN BROADCASTING UNION
"Why is Mr. Sweden so somber?"
Salim had his eyes turned to the nation, who was gazing at Stockholm through the window of the cafeteria. He wasn't the merriest of men, but those days Sweden looked grimmer than usual. He looked so grim Salim even hesitated being in the same room as him.
He looked like he was ruminating some dark thought, planning something evil, or bearing the burden of an unspeakable secret...
And, Salim noticed, that didn't worry his supervisors, as if they knew exactly what that was or were used to Sweden's attitude.
"May has just begun." Mrs. Dahlström simply replied, and she hushed, as if that was enough answer. But it was not.
"What about it?" Salim insisted.
Mr. Sandberg sipped his coffee calmly, delaying the answer. "Eurovision is at hand."
"That's all? A song contest has him like that?"
Salim had been born in Senegal. He hadn't been living in the country for long. He was young, one of the interns in the Parliament. All the people around him had reasons to excuse his ignorance.
"It's not just a contest." Mr. Sandberg continued. "Not for the nations. We watch it at home with popcorn and drinks, we laugh, we boo, we sing along, post memes about it and then we go to bed, but for the nations...For the nations it's not all fun and games...Absolutely...You have no idea of what Sweden had to do to win last year."
"At what price did he win..." Mrs. Cederblon shook her head, like she was talking about something dreadful.
"Yeah...And now he's the host, and he can already feel in his bones that the storm is approaching. Can't you feel it too, in the air?"
Salim turned his eyes back to the window. The wind blowing, clouds covering the sun...And in the middle of that picture, the slender, severe figure of Sweden, watching his city, deep in thought.
"It's like a cage being opened, a pressure cooker blowing up, a volcano erupting..." Mrs. Cederblon muttered.
"Wars in Europe have decreased considerably, but the need to fight and dominate is still in their blood and they let it loose once a year..." Mrs. Dahlström said.
Sweden's phone buzzed. He lowered his head and stopped glancing at the city for a second to check it.
An incoming text from Finland.
Just a series of emojis. Coffins and skulls.
No 'lol' afterwards, nor a friendly conversation. Finland's message was completely serious.
"...And there are no friends..."
Sweden's eyebrows furrowed and raised his gaze to his city again...
"...in Eurovision..." Mr. Sandberg concluded gravely.
...A city that soon would become a battlefield...