Melody Of The Mind

Of Forlorn

This piece is one of my earliest piece of works. It was written as a one-shot from the fandom "Hetalia" featuring Arthur (United Kingdom) and his struggle reminiscing his past with Alfred (United States. I had planned to make a continuation for this in Alfred's perspective but never did it, I hope you enjoy reading one of my scrapped works.

~*~

"Tell me, if everything was forgotten,

Would living without crying also be easier?"

~*~

The droplets, nothing but a mere reminder of the grim past, beating against the glass, as it created a melancholic tune.

The wind brought along the same sadness it did decades ago. His dishevelled blonde hair leaned against the moist window, slowly but steadily glistening tears began to fall down his pale cheek.

Everything felt like it was yesterday.

~*~

He never thought this day would come. None had spoken a word, yet the solemn air that lingered was easily felt.

The rain started to pour down, there they stood, glaring at each other intensely.

"Admit it England, It's over, I won" Alfred spoke monotonously.

Arthur's fists curled up so tightly it turned white. His head hung low, several dripping wet locks of hair blocked his teary eyes.

"Your incompetence is astounding as ever you bloody twat" Britain insulted as he desperately mask his true emotions.

Alfred twitched, impatience and irritation written all over his face, Arthur's remarks clearly gotten to him.

"Stop it! You have lost! Why don't you just accept it!?" America yelled in fury, a bayonet clenched in his right hand.

All Arthur could do was glower at him, yet why was his mind yelling and begging for him to stop? Was it because the words he spoke sent daggers flying to his heart, sending him a pang of guilt in his chest?

No, he refused, he won't let his efforts to be in vain.

"I won't allow it!!!" He charged, clashing his bayonet onto Alfred's, sending it to soar into the air before crashing down the muddy ground with a loud thump.

England exhaled sharply, his weapon now pointing at America, who he once considered as his little brother.

He then questioned his actions. 'Was this the right thing to do?'

His hands suddenly quivered, legs trembled as he fell down to his knees. He spoke in a barely audible tone.

"There's no way I could pull the trigger...Dammit! Why? Why?! Why?!!" He shouted, hitting the rain drenched ground several times. The tears pricked his eyes like needles, mixed emotions - anger, desperation, fear, sadness, rolled along gently down his face, dripping to the ground as it rippled on a puddle. He started to see a figure of a child, clothed in white with the brightest smile he had ever seen, one that belonged to only one person.

He couldn't, he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. To sacrifice the happiness and freedom of the one whom he had cared and raised for centuries.

Alfred stood dumbfounded, never had he seen Arthur in such a vulnerable state in his whole life, and it pains him to know that it was because of him.

He didn't want to hurt him, nor did he mean any violence. All he thought was gaining his freedom. But what had turned out was chaos, for both him and Arthur.

Once again deafening silence engulfed the scene, besides the soft pitter-patter of the rain and rustles of leaves. Arthur's sobs echoed through everyone's ears.

All he wanted was for time to reverse, and return to that warm and bright, sunny afternoon, back to that luscious green fields, where they would always laugh and play, the times when nothing mattered except themselves.

When the sweet little voice of America said

"Let's go home Iggy"

~*~

The rain had finally ceased. The cold, misty air remained. Arthur's eyes were still slightly puffy, and tear tracks could be seen. He sighed, forming a cloud of his breath, which dissipated quickly after.

He grabbed his coat from the rack, inserted the key and twisted the knob. A familiar figure stood before him.

"Hey Iggy! What's u-"

Britain, who was utterly confused and shocked at the moment, slammed the door shut before the cheery American could even finish his speech.

"America. It had to be him of all people" He grumbled to himself as he barricaded the door with his strength. Crimson liquid began dripping down his mouth, down to the carpet floor.

"Duuuude! Lemme in!!!" Alfred whined along with his loud banging at the wooden door.

Arthur searched for something he could possibly use, indifferent to the fact that he was spewing blood everywhere. Firstly, he dragged a chair, which to no avail, did anything in particular, so he had to push an empty shelf towards the door, as well as a couch for additional weight.

As soon as the obnoxious American's whines were no longer heard, nor his continuous banging on the door, Arthur concluded that he must have left.

"I dealt with this a hundred times before and I can certainly put up with it another hundred..." He muttered disdainfully before wiping the blood of his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Being contented with his work, England dusted his hands and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast, when all of a sudden pain struck him like lighting on a stormy day, all color drained from his face as he suddenly lost control over his legs and collapsed on the floor. Blood continued to trickle down his chin, the breton latched onto the door as if it was his lifeline, burying his face in his palm in an attempt to stop sputtering more red liquid, yet it only dripped in between his fingers, hunching over and coughing the air out of his lungs, he dared to wonder why he felt miserable every single year, every Fourth of July. He convinced himself that he was over that, even after a century he believed, accepted the dreary past unknowingly filling his mind with delusion, lies.

'As long as I could see him happy, see him smile and laugh every day, then there is nothing else I would wish for'

"Am I too selfish to ask for the same happiness I sacrificed for you?"

~*~