- 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 -

𝐿𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑖 𝑙𝑎𝑘𝑎...

𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐: 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝑏𝑦 Rɪᴠᴀʟ, Cᴀᴅᴍɪᴜᴍ, Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ Bɪʀᴅ
"We live and breathe words. .... It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt--I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted--and then I realized that truly I just wanted you."
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

              * * *

Australia groggily opened his eyes, his vision was blurry and distorted. His vision cleared like glass being wiped from dirt. He noticed the sky was orange and the sun was beginning to set down, he heavily sat up and rubbed his head. His head ached from pain and dizziness.

He thought of going on a nice fishing trip but then the shark bit his boat and thunderstorms were roaring loudly. The last thing he remembered was his siblings calling out his name on the beach, it was a huge mistake for him to go fishing.

Now he was probably somewhere on an island, he hoped he wouldn't get run over by animals or countries.

He reacted immediately when he felt a tap on his shoulder, his head turned to the direction of the country who tapped him. His flag looked like Thailand's except the entire flag was pale blue and the stripe was black instead of navy blue. His hair was ruffled and messy like those high school playboys, the country wore a white shirt with a silk scarf and black ripped jeans. His green eyes were bright like seaweed, Australia had an urge to call the country "Seaweed eyes".

"Lumela ... na u naha ea Afrika?" said the country politely and backed away from Australia nervously.
"I-I'm sorry but I don't understand you," said Australia and tried to process what the hell the country said to him. The language the country is saying can't be Spanish, he didn't even had the Spanish accent nor he sounded like a German country.
The country cleared his throat, "I asked if you're an—you know what forget what I said..."

Australia frowned, what was the country asking? Was he going to ask him if he was a terrorist or a trespasser? He stood up, brushed the sand off his clothes and held out a hand.

"Please to meet you," said Australia and grinned, "I'm Australia, and you are?"
The country hesitated, seconds passed by before he finally shook hands with Australia, "My name is Botswana...."

Guess he's not a type of a person who trusts easily, thought Australia.

"What language were you speaking?" asked the Oceania country and glanced at the sunset.
Botswana frowned, "Why should I tell you when we just met? How can I trust you?"
"I mean," said Australia and suppressed a soft smile, "We can be friends."

The African country bit how lower lip, he couldn't risk his identity to be shown to a country he didn't knew, he was scared Australia might betray him. Botswana was sick and tired of slavery long ago, he was scared Australia might use him as a useless puppet.

"No," said Botswana, his voice sounded angry and bitter.

Australia glared, but his glare softened when he met the green eyes, his chest fluttered like millions of butterflies.

"How can I get you to trust me?" asked Australia and kneeled down to pick up the broken planks of the boat.
"I don't need this 'friendship' or whatever it is," snapped Botswana, his fists curling into a ball, "I'm sick and tired being a slave."