Authors note: I don't own Hetalia.
~~~~(Southern America pov)~~~~
Here I was minding my own bees wax. Until this black van ,that was a rip off of Scobby Doo's Mystery Machine. But that wasn't the only thing wrong, oh no, the windows were blacked out. Driving, well technically running over signs and fire hydrants, like a madman.
If you call that driving you need to walk your ass home. Because that isn't driving, hell a biker could be better than what this person was driving like. It wasn't new to me, okay, that's a lie, it was new to me. What else was that my next door neighbor was yelling with his blood red face. Screaming, yelling, cussing about drivers.
Even though I agree with him about drivers ,but today I just want to put a sock in that throat of his. I swear his anger management classes aint doing a damn thing for him. Just making him mad. Sure you get twelve A+'s. That wasnt the only thing. Oh no, I started walking back inside my house until I heard my name being called.
It was a little hard to hear it at first ,but I somehow knew that voice from somewhere. I turned around to see the black ,non-individual, van, with men pouring out. I swear if you have watched it, it looked like one of those clown cars with twenty people/clowns in it. And that is fucked up!
I wasnt sure if staying right here would be a bright idea, so I quickly turned and fastly walked into my home. It was empty, but full of Civil War items. I didnt bother calling the cops, because I knew once I get in touch with the cops, it would be too late to save my sorry excuse for an ass. I rushed into my living room, where my musket lay there waiting. Haunting. But today wasnt the day for memories. You would've thought I would have blocked my front door, then you are right. Once my hand touched that gun, it means that shit is going down. I knew once I got one shot, I would not be able to reload quickly. So I ran threw my living room to the door on my left.
Opening the door, I fought to contain the memories. Quickly I shut the door, and turn on my radio and typed this:
* "Macclenny... Emily Taber... 228 W Mclver Ave..."
Hoping he got the message. With that finished I open a small cubboard that contain papers, but under those papers is a small Colt Model 1860. This bad boy saved me so many times during the Civil War. It was cold to the touch, slightly heavy, and slightly smooth even with its scars.
Just in a matter of seconds I hear my front door opening, I was glad I didnt oil those bolts down, with its loud creaking noise alarmed me enough to run. Jumping out of the chair I had to open my window. Throwing my guns out first I jumped out second, after recollecting my things I rushed into the barn with its faded red color.
With a hard push, the barn doors open and there she was. A **1967 442 model with a four-barrel carburetor, four-speed manual transmission ,and dual exhaust. It was hand painted, dusky navy blue/black with glitter. Which makes her shine, inside is a cherry red and white interior seats that can make a man sleep. I couldnt help but smile and this. Swiftly I open the doors and close the doors. Luckly enough I have her keys in the cupboard.
And man does she pur when she comes to life. With a roar I step on it and we drove off a bit fast but a good kind of fast. Once I made it around the corner I shifted the gears and hop off the breaks. And off I went in high speed down a dirt road on the far left. I knew they would try to follow me so I quickly change my direction.
* This is in Flordia.
** The Oldsmobile 442 was introduce in the 1964-1980, it was made in America by a company named General Motors. Created to be fast and loud, with its four-barrel carburetor 330 CID (5.4 L) V8 with heavy-duty valve gear. SAE gross output to 310 hp (231.3 kW) at 5200 rpm. How it got its name was the combination of its four-barrel carburetor, four-speed manual transmission ,and dual exhaust.
4-4-2: Meaning
4: Four barrel carburetor
4: Four on the Floor
2: Dual Exhaust