Chapter 3: The Song of the Crickets
Italy sped through the halls, his chest heaving as he tried to sustain his speed. Away from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the doors, that small lines between the tiles on the floor. He ran from fear. Fangirls snatched at the edge of his vision. Their eyes brimming with lust, mouths barely containing their excitement as they reached out with their horrible claws for just the tiniest snatch of him. The tiniest bit of clothing, just a touch, just a feel, just a taste. Whether they were real or imaginary he knew not, nor did it matter. Hall upon hall he dashed down, his feet slapping the ground propelling him faster and faster. Yet he moved closer and closer to his limit. His feet hit the floor faster and he stumbled as his body failed to accelerate. Each stumbling step felt like a blow to the soul. The cacophony of giggles made by the fangirls sounded behind him as he desperately tried to go faster. The whole building seemed to rumble as a wave of fangirls rolled down the hall toward him. Italy chanced a look back only to see the fangirls crashing down the hall, stumbling over one another. His feet went faster and faster as he clenched his fists, streaking his sweaty palms. His body felt light, though he moved with such vigor he felt as though his body moved independent of his mind. If only he could fade away from this world he thought sorrowfully. If only he had nothing to worry about, to live without a care in the world. The thought pained him, for he knew it was never to happen. His curl whipped back and forth as, with a heavy heart and saddened eyes he imagined what could be. In his world he was light as a feather, lighter even. There he picked ready to eat pasta off trees and was lulled to sleep every night by the crickets as he lay under the stars. His eyes filled with tears as his illusionary world faded only to be replaced by harsh reality. "No." Italy breathed. "This isn't real. I'm still lying under the stars" he heard the song of the crickets, a song that seemed to have no exact form, blowing here and there like the wind with neither end nor beginning. But one thing was certain. It was a song of memories. The one played as you gently trickled off to sleep. The one that played as you leaned against the window of the car as it drove off down the road. The one that played as you waited for the future eager to get to that place perfect for you, yet never did you lust for it because you had your memories inside you. It was that song that the crickets played. But reality had too firm a grip. It pieced his fake world and drove its steely blade through the heart his fantasy, ceasing the cricket's song. He stumbled as he regained control of his body. But for the first time, Italy did not want to run away. This life was not worth living. It had been one big nightmare from the beginning, always being picked on and fought over as a prize to be won. He didn't actually have anyone who cared about him. Here he was running for his life, not a soul coming to help. He thought of Germany who once stood by him who was probably fleeing the building now. A sad smile crossed his he gave into the demands of his body. He quit the only fight he ever fought in his life. He quit running. No longer did his feet slap the floor to escape the fangirls, no longer did he try to escape them, and no longer did he fight it. His legs stopped running and he fell forward, tears flowing from his somber eyes. His eyes slowly shut leaving behind a trail of tears in the air. The fangirls washed over Italy, their lustful grabs feeling like smooth caresses, the song of the cricket playing as he slowly fell into sleep.