The Explorer

-in which a man meets a boy and tomatoes are shared-

Once there lived a great explorer. He had travelled all over the world, and had seen many beautiful lands and many beautiful women. He had held more gold in his own hands than the richest king could possibly possess, and he had tasted the water at the edge of the earth.

But oh! How lonely the explorer was! He lived alone with such wonderful memories and no one to share them with! This made the man depressed, and when he felt like this, he would walk for hours in the blissful sun that shrouded his beautiful home.

Ah, his home was beautiful. But it was large and empty and every noise echoed. It was enough to make even the most worldly of explorers feel small.

Only a short walk away lived two young boys, who were brothers. One, the youngest, was built like a cherub, and had an angel's voice, too! He could paint, and cook, and was so adorable that it was impossible to look at him and not love him. The other brother was loud and often grumpy. He preferred to sit on his own, glaring at his young brother, for although he loved him so, he wanted to be fawned and fussed over like him. He knew that he could be just as good!

Now, one day, as the explorer walked, he came across the older brother, sitting alone on a wall, crying and looking at his feet.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked the explorer, standing beside him, so lonely and helpless the little boy looked! "They took my baby brother away," the boy explained, "...and then they just left me here!"

Well! It hurt the man to hear of such cruelty served upon such an adorable little child, so he offered the boy a hand, and help with which to look for his little brother.

"No," the boy refused. "I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anyone!"

"Oh, don't be like that," said the explorer. "I can't just leave you here! This neighbourhood is a bad one, the people who live here are always fighting, and it wouldn't do for you to get hurt!"

The boy just wiped his eyes and frowned. "What would it matter? No one wants me anyway."

Something to remember is this - no matter who you are or where you come from, you are always wanted. You are always welcome in some way or another, at some place, with someone. There is always at least one person who needs you and loves you, no matter how much it seems untrue. You maybe just haven't met them yet.

But you will meet them. Maybe they were right in front of you. Or maybe they're sitting on a wall beside an old dirt road, waiting to be found.

The explorer reached into his bag and took out one round, shiny, ripe tomato, handing it to the boy, who took it and ate it in only two quick, hungry bites, his thin fingers wiping his mouth afterwards.

"More?" he whispered, his cheeks going as red as the fruit he had eaten. He looked so cute!

The explorer smiled and picked the boy up onto his shoulders. "There are as many tomatoes as you could ever want at my house. Would you like to see?"

The boy nodded and they walked back through the Spanish sunset, and the explorer's house was never quiet or empty again.

Romano rather liked how this had been censored. Not once in the story had the boy kicked the explorer and called him a useless bastard, which made it much less realistic, but it made things seem simpler, which was exactly what would have been nice.

To have been offered a tomato and picked up, taken home, washed off, would have been a smooth, well-rounded reality. Such realities didn't exist for nations.

He sighed and traced the illustration that occupied the once left-over space beneath the story - an artistically scribbled silhouette of a man carrying a boy, with a prominent and obnoxious curl sticking up from his head, on his shoulders. Spain really was an idiot. He had obviously been trying to be nice in writing Romano a story and reading it to him, but his charge always fell out with him when he started cooing over dear sweet Feli, and was asleep before the happy ending.

Wiping his face, Romano closed the book slowly and ran a finger along its bright red spine, before he stood up and slipped it beneath his mattress. It was a pretty obvious hiding place, but he was a pretty useless guy, truth be told, and he didn't want to risk losing it.

He curled up in his clean, white sheets, still fully clothed bar his shoes, and cursed Spain for all the bastard was worth.

SO NOW WE KNOW.

Oh, Romano, you little sentimentalist.

R&R please! :D