The Crap Hetalia Book

Seborga - a pin prick of light

I stare up at the door to the conference room. Muffled talking comes from inside. I want to go in, I really do... but... they don't see me as a real nation do they. They just see me as... Seborga, the micronation, the brother of Veneziano and Romano. I'm taller than both of them I'd just like to say.

I put up a hand to push the door open and then give up, resting my head against it. There's no point. I'd just get chucked out.

There's no where for me to go now. I mean... there's the micronation meeting, but I don't belong there. It doesn't feel right, and today will be worse seeing as I had an argument with Sealand yesterday.

He hates me, so Wy hates me, so everyone hates me. There's no point to my existence.

Sighing, I turn and take a few steps down the corridor. The talking grows louder and the door opens. I duck behind a plant and peer out. France and England walk out, not killing each other, but talking normally.

"They really are idiots aren't they?" England scoffs

France sighs. "Sometimes I do wonder if the Italy brothers are right in the head."

England nods an agreement and they pass.

I sit behind the plant for a while, hugging my knees and staring into the green leaves. It's not the fact that they said we weren't right in the head that hurt, it's the fact that I know when they say 'The Italy Brothers', I know I'm not included.

To them, the Italy Brothers is Veneziano and Romano. To them, the only parts of Italy worth mentioning are North and South.

What about North West? What about the harmless independant nation who never did anyone any harm?

They never did anyone any harm?

Abyssian Crisis. Let's just start there. I'm not proud of that, and I don't see why they are. I'm the only one out of the three of us who has never done anyone any harm, yet I'm the one who gets forgotten. I'm the one who is left behind.

A tear tracks it's way down my face and I blink glancing down as it hits the floor. There's already a puddle of subconscious tears. I didn't even know I was crying.

Slowly, I get up and stumble toward the door. I don't care anymore. The meetings will be fine without me. Someone shouts my name but I ignore them. Whatever it is they want, they can find someone else to do it. They don't need me, there's nothing important that I can do that anyone else can't. I slam the door to my car and start to drive as one would call, like an Italian. At this moment in time, I don't even care what happens to me.

I get back to my hotel in seconds thanks to my 'careless' driving. Just because we drive fast doesn't mean we're careless. We are some of the safest drivers in our own country. Other people just go too slow. That's not our fault.

The receptionist is asleep so I slip past and walk slowly up the stairs. My room is on the third floor, but I keep walking, and by the time I look up, the stairs have ended and I'm on the eighth floor. It's a large rooftop garden. It's pretty to look at, ivy trailing round the green barriers, a trickle of water running through the middle with world's smallest bridge over the top made of the type of stone you'd find in a child's fairy garden. I don't use the bridge, I just step over the river... if you can call it that and lean on the rail, carefully stroking some of the ivy.

The city is large and would be nice to look at at night. I've never thought about it really, being too tired yesterday and the day before. The sky would be lit with a million little pin pricks of light. I wanted to stay here, glued to the barrier, pressed to the green iron in between the ivy and wait for darkness to fall, for the lights to be turned on, for the sky to be illuminated with those million little pin pricks of light, like fallen stars.

Below, tiny pin pricks appear, but not the white light that should be, but dark ones, menacing ones that move about too much, sometimes in clumps, sometimes singular, sometimes just standing there. Those are the ones I like the best, the ones that don't move. The others just... move all the time. It frustrates me. The pin pricks in the sky, the fallen stars and the ones still hanging are okay. They didn't move. The ground pin pricks did, and it annoys me.

No one thinks about the Italy Brothers getting annoyed, least of all me, the one they always forget. They always think we're happy go lucky... except for Romano. They think that we don't have opinions really. We do, all three of us do, and what you see is not what we are.

Did you know that? Probably not. Maybe you thought about it for them, but not for me. No one ever thinks about me. No one ever remembers me as part of Italy.

The wind that rushes in my face intensifies and I glance behind me. The rail is still there, the ivy still there. I smile at it sadly, at the garden. It's pretty. A nice thing to look at. I turn back and glance over the city. I want to stay, to see those million pin pricks of light that just... appear. The sun goes down, the sky turns black, and the million pin pricks come out, jumping to the darkened sky, trying to get back up to their still hanging friends. But the million pin pricks of light in the sky don't care. They'd fallen for a reason.

Maybe that's why I'm hear. Maybe, in someone else's world, I'm just a little pin prick of light. Not a million, just a singular little pin prick of light. And at some point, the sun has to go down, every light bulb has to go out, every torch has to run out of power, every fire has to die. And now... it's my turn. It's my turn to extinguish my little pin prick of light.

I let go of the rail and watch as the ground rushes closer. My pin prick of light is falling, falling, falling. It's a shame... yes, but everyone's pin pricks of light have to go out at some point. There is no light that can live forever, no matter how immortal it claims to be, and there is no light that can not be extinguished by darkness.

Darkness that extinguishes my pin prick of light.

One pin prick of light in among a million.

I'd be surprised if anyone noticed.