Okay so, as you've probably already guessed from the title, this is going to be bad. Really, bad. I apologise now for my bad writing and anything else but... hey, why not have a Hetalia Book? Hetalia is life :D
Oops! Ang larawang ito ay hindi sumusunod sa aming mga alituntunin sa nilalaman. Upang magpatuloy sa pag-publish, subukan itong alisin o mag-upload ng bago.
Seven years and a bit, left by parents, Yao opened the fridge to get out some left over sauce. The master would be back in a bit, and he had to have the dish ready to be taken out. He'd worked in the same restaurant for almost all his life... since he could walk, and for the entire time, he'd been told of his parent's escape, how they'd run off with no regard for the safety of their son. He never complained though. Complaining would get him another night locked in the dark, cold cellar with the rats.
"Yao"
Master was back. He barged in through the door, bright red face glowering.
"I thought I told you to have this dish ready. I thought I told you..."
"Yes sir, it's nearly ready sir" he stuttered, pouring on the sauce quickly, and spilling some in his haste.
"Now look what you've done, you've gone and ruined it" Master hissed, stomping up to him.
Yao cowered down, placing the jar on the side. Then he was on the floor, a burning feel in his cheek and the master was halfway across the kitchen, grumbling about something or other and walking off with the dish. He shuddered and picked up the jar and carefully placed it next to the pots and pans to be washed.
He was exhausted. He always was. Cooking in the kitchen from seven a.m. to nine p.m., washing pans after that, then cleaning surfaces and floors and bed at around eleven or twelve for a fresh five 'o' clock start. And somewhere in the middle of all that, he would get slapped.
Shaking slightly, he took a deep breath to calm himself and walked back over to the requests. If Master wasn't there all the time, shouting, he would love doing this, not even minding how tired he always was. Cooking, he loved it. Making things out of things that no one really like, creating fantastic dishes out of whatever he could find.
And the only downside was Master.
"You did pathetically today" Master hissed, barging into the kitchen as he put all the cooking equipment by the sink. "No comments, no nothing. Can't you do anything?"
Tears pricked his eyes and he didn't say anything.
"This kitchen had better be spik and span in the morning you hear me?" Master hissed. "I'm going."
Yao nodded hurriedly. Master lived above the restaurant in a nice, two story flat. Yao lived in the broom cupboard next to the oven.
Master left, and he was alone with the kitchen. He couldn't savour the moment of peace, there was work to be done, floors to be swept, pans to be washed, surfaces wiped. But he was exhausted, more so than usual.
"Maybe I can wake up early tomorrow" he muttered to himself as he started washing a wok. "Maybe I can do everything then." He smiled at the wok. It was his favourite thing to cook with and sometimes, he could imagine himself hitting Master with it. Those were good days, with something to take his anger and sadness out on. There wasn't much to do that day, just a few things, there hadn't been many customers, it being a working Monday.
He finished it, wiped the surfaces he used and then sat down, glaring at the floor. It looked clean enough. Maybe, Master wouldn't notice if he left it. Normally, he'd banish the thought and just get on with it, but today was different. Today, he was even tireder than normal, so today was an exception.
Struggling to keep his eyes open, Yao crawled into the cupboard, under the blanket screwed up in the corner and was asleep within seconds.
The next thing he knew, the cupboard had collapsed on top of him and everything was red hot
The entire kitchen was alight, flames destroying everything, including the unwashed floor. In the corner, the wok lay, melting.
Yao shoved at one of the pieces of wood holding him down and failed. It hurt to try. The door to the stairs to the second floor burst open and Master ran in, screaming like a banshee and trying to put out the fire. He looked around frantically and then made as though to leave.
"M... Master" Yao stuttered as loudly as he could. He throat was just as on fire as the rest of the kitchen, burning up and it was painful to talk.
Master froze and turned to stare at him. For a second, it looked like he was about to come back in and save him, before he sneered. "You're no use for anything, why would I save you? Burn with your kitchen." And then he was gone, and the tears started to fall.
It was growing increasingly hotter by the second, smoke multiplying, and his throat hurt more with every breath. The beam still refused to move. Then it caught of fire too.
Yao screamed as much as his burnt throat would let him and shoved at it again. Nothing.
"Move, move, move" he shouted, now ignoring his throat. "Come on, please move."
Outside, sirens sounded and the beam's flame got closer to him.
"Please, please please move" he sobbed, kicking with his free leg. His vision was blurring rapidly faster by the second and his breaths shorter and shorter. "Please, please." Slowly, his voice whittled down to a whisper, then a thought, and then... nothing.
Yao sat upright and leaped up, screaming. He had no idea why, he just did. Then he sat down again and frowned at the grass beneath him, the bamboo clearing he was in.
Where was he?
He didn't remember anything; why he'd screamed, why he had felt so hot all over. He didn't look any different, he knew that, but nothing else, apart from one word: China.
It had no relation to him as he could remember, but it was a start. He stood up and started walking.
China
It felt weird to be out in the open, but no reason why came to mind.
China
The bamboo on either side swayed slightly in a gentle, cooling breeze.
China
A face appeared, white with huge black rings and black dots in the centre of the rings that stared out.
"Huh?"
China
"Argh" Yao jumped and then settled himself down. "Panda, just Panda."
China
The panda was a small one, not even up to his height on hind legs when he sat down, which he did, and then panda came and sat on him.
China
The word was starting to sound right, something that echoed in a far off distant memory, unremembered.
"You can call me China" he said, not meaning to, but not regretting it either. "I'll call you Panda."
