Enemigos (Latin Hetalia - ENG)

Enemigos

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creator of Latin Hetalia (if any). The poem was written by Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet.

Characters present: Peru (Miguel), Bolivia (Julio), Chile (Manuel), Argentina (Martin)

Pairings : Ugh... It's confused xD But basically, a very light PerBoli, one-sided ChiBol and one-sided ArgChi

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Miguel fell on his knees. The red and sticky water reached his shoulders. The smell of blood made him sick and the salt burned his wounds, but he just gritted his teeth, biting his lip to keep from screaming his pain. In the black water, his hand was looking for his rifle that escaped from his hands and sank during the war.

Ellos aquí trajeron los fusiles repletos de pólvora,

Ellos mandaron el acerbo exterminio,

He touched something. His fingers closed on... A piece of cloth ? Is it possible that this corpse... No. Impossible. He leaned forward, his head above the water now reaching his neck and licking his chin. His hand ran through the garment until he found the body attached to it. He hold out his two arms and pulled the body against his, discovering his swollen face now out on the surface of the water. He was right. It was him. Miguel hugged him, trembling, tears in his eyes.

« Hermano... »

Ellos aquí encontraron un pueblo que cantaba,

Un pueblo por deber y por amor reunido,

He heard a noise in the water, sign that someone was joining them, but he remained on his knees with his brother huddled against him. He turned his head to the side and saw Manuel's legs, which had joined them. The Chilean nation didn't said nothing. He had won this hellish war, but no pride was reflected in his irises, no smile adorned his face. No. His eyes reflected panic and horror, he watched his precious beach ravaged, his flags torn and the foam that colored the sand a little more at each of its passages. But above all, the corpses. All those corpses floating at the surface of the water, their glassy eyes, motionlesses and cold as statues of wax.

He hardly snatched his eyes from this macabre contemplation, and walked within the water next to the Peruvian, who immediatly placed his hand on the inert face of his brother as if to protect him. Manuel stopped, staring at them with grief. He leaned over too, soaking his military uniform.

« Is... Is he dead ?

Y la delgada niña cayó con su bandera,

Y el joven sonriente rodó a su lado herido,

Y el estupor del pueblo vio caer a los muertos con furia y con dolor.

- No, he is still breathing, replied Miguel, whose voice was less furious than he would have liked. But if I lose him, I... I do not know if I would survive. »

He lowered his head, and trembled when the Chilean came closer and passed his hands covered with wounds and bandages in his brother's black wicks. But he did nothing to stop him. Manuel stroked his hair with an almost tender gesture, then his hand derived of his cheek and turned his face toward his. He sighed as he saw the deep wound that crossed his cheek.

« Bolivia... I'm so sorry...

Entonces, en el sitio donde cayeron los asesinados,

Bajaron las banderas a empaparse de sangre,

Para alzarse de nuevo frente a los asesinos.