Forever

Philips Chamber

Mexico was walking through the forest alone. He never wanted to go back home, but he couldn't help but fear living in the forest all by himself. Suddenly, a voice called him from a distance.

"Mexico! There you are!"

Mexico turned around to see the Philippines. Philip was one of Spanish Empires many servants, and had been around for as long as Mexico could remember. He was always very kind to Mexico. He was a bit older than Mexico, appearing to be in his early teens. Although Mexico knew Philip was trustworthy, he feared that Philip was sent by Spanish Empire to find him, and possibly even...

"Please, don't tell anyone I'm here. I can't go back home... I....," Mexico struggled to say what he wanted without crying.  Spanish Empire taught him that it was never, never, ok to cry if you were a real man. However, he always wondered why he heard his father crying in private. He always wondered why tears always felt so natural. Maybe Spanish Empire was wrong....

"Mexico, come with me. You may stay in my chamber tonight," Philip said "I'd hate for you to have to sleep out in the forest all by yourself,"

Mexico was hesitant to accept Philips offer... but he thought it would be nicer to sleep indoors rather than in the woods. Mexico silently nodded and followed Philip back home. Rather than going into the palace, the pair went into the separate chambers where Spanish Empires servants lived.

Philip, being one of the Empires more favored servants, slept on the bottom floor as to avoid the tiring travel up the steep spiral staircase. Philip unlocked his wooden chamber door, and opened it for Mexico to go inside. It was a quaint room, nothing too out of the ordinary for a servants abode. On the opposite wall to the door was a small barred window that was high up on the wall. A small wooden bed sat in the corner, it's thin mattress covered by a thick wool blanket and leathered cows hide. Two small flour bags filled with feathers were placed as pillows. A thick torn rug was covering a small portion of the cobblestone flooring, and in the opposite corner of the bed was a small furnace, with a pile of sticks, dried leaves, and small chopped up pieces of wood sitting by it. In the left corner closest to the chamber door was a small table. Sitting on it was an old Salakót, a red cloth, and an old piece of paper with words Mexico couldn't make out.

"You may sleep in the bed... it's not much more comfortable than the floor anyway," Philip said kindly. Mexico smiled up at Philip, but couldn't help but feel uneasy. He fondly remembered a night not so long ago, his father was gently tucking him into bed. He remembered his father's gentle tone as he spoke of Mexico's mother. 'You have your mothers sparkling eyes... and her bronze skin... her spirit lives on in you, mi hijo... you'll never be alone... she'll always be there...,'. Mexico could still picture the tears in his fathers eyes, contrasting his loving smile.

"Mexico? Are you ok? Don't cry, I promise you'll be ok," Philip said, kneeling down to meet Mexico's eyes. Mexico had been so lost in memory he didn't even realize he had started to cry. "What's wrong Mexico?" Philip asked, wiping the tears off Mexico's cheek. Mexico hugged Philip closely, a hug that Philip gently returned. "Did his majesty hurt you?" Philip asked. Mexico tried to speak, but the words came out as hushed sobs. Philip held Mexico, patiently waiting until he was ready to talk. Soon, Mexico was able to calm his nerves enough to stop sobbing.

"H-he... he wants to make me a slave... he said he would... kill me if I am treated like royalty...," Mexico said in between small cries.

"But... You're Prince Spain's son, are you not?" Philip asked.

"I... I'm Aztecs son..... I'm just.... I'm just a savage....," Mexico cried. Philip ran his hand through Mexico's hair to calm him down.

"That's just what his majesty calls people like us.... he deems what he can't understand as 'savage'. But you are just as much of royalty as he is, and your mothers life is just as valuable as his," Philip said.

"Was...," Mexico said softly. Philip sighed.

"I understand.... he did the same thing to my mother...," Philip said. The two sat in prolonged silence, but Mexico didn't mind. He was relieved to be held as if he was wanted, and was relieved Philip understood him.

Eventually it was time for bed. Philip tucked Mexico into his bed, and although Philips bed was a lot less comfortable than Mexicos in the palace, he was happy Philip let him sleep in a bed at all. Philip laid down on the thick rug on the floor, using the cow hide as a blanket and resting his head on one of the bags of feathers. Mexico watched as Philip drifted off to sleep.

He always preferred people when they were asleep; neutral, relaxed, unbothered by his presence. However, Philip was a very still sleeper. Mexico wondered if Philip had eased into a coma, or simply died. The thought was too unsettling to bear, so he shut his eyes and tried to think of something different.

His mind began to wander to the young boy he had met in the forest, Thirteen. Knowing the boys name was a number made him feel better about himself in a strange way. He may not be wanted by his grandfather, but at least he had a unique name. Mexico.... he always pronounced it as 'Meh-he-co', but it was difficult for Thirteen to pronounce. When Mexico wrote it in the dirt for him to sound out, he began to say it as 'Mex-ie-co'. Although this pronunciation was different to him, he didn't mind Thirteen saying his name that way. It almost made him feel as though it was a whole new him, one with purpose, and a friend to confide in. Mexico drifted off to sleep, Thirteens words still repeating in his head

..... home.................. here Tomorrow.....