Dark
Japan sat in silence. It was the kind of silence that, miraculously, was louder than any noise. The silence of loneliness.
He'd been shut up in house for centuries by himself. His boss said it was for the best though. After all, other cultures would only be detrimental to the young nation. They would just erode his individuality and take advantage of him. That was what he was told.
Was that why all those people had to die? It didn't seem like worth to him. Besides, he rather liked that little boy with the yellow hair that his boss allowed to come over. He always brought new and interesting things with him which he would show to Japan.
He frowned, hugging his knees against his chest as he peered through the window. The moonlight trickled in, spilling onto the floor and bringing some light to the darkness. His eyes lingered on the shape of the moon, noting the contrasting blotches of grey.
No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't see an old man grinding medicine.
xxx
The people who died refer to the casualties of the Shimabara Rebellion. After that the Shogun cracked down on foreign trade so that only the Dutch (and the odd German or Prussian here and there) and the Chinese could trade with Japan.
Different cultures traditionally see different shapes on the surface of the moon. The Chinese see a man grinding medicine, while the Japanese see a rabbit pounding mochi. Personally, I see a bunch of grey blobs.