Ireland's part:
I awoke with a start. I've had that nightmare for months now...
"nnahhhh..." I groaned as I stretched my bad arm out. I looked down at it. The scars were nearly gone, but still noticeable. I sighed while I changed into my favourite green turtleneck jumper and turquoise jeans and headed down stairs.
France's part:
I heard groans coming outside the kitchen door and saw Ireland walk in, big black circles around his eyes.
"How was your sleep?" I asked as I put Britain's fry onto a plate.
"I had that bloody nightmare again.." he grumbled as he poured himself a cup of strong tea.
I sighed as I called Britain down for his breakfast. As I put his breakfast on the table, I saw Ireland slip something into his drink.
No one's part
Britain came into the kitchen and saw Ireland leaning against the counter.
"Stop slouching, you'll ruin whats left of your posture" Britain spat at Ireland as he sat down.
"Stop eating that junk, you'll ruin whats left of your health" Ireland mimicked in an English accent.
Britain shot up. "YOU WILL NOT TALK TO YOUR FATHER LIKE THAT, YOU PATHEIC WASTE OF AN ISLAND!!"
Ireland was close to tears. "YOU'LL NEVER BE MY FATHER, YOU SON OF A BISH!!" Ireland screamed before he shot out of the front door.
YOU ARE READING
🍻☘️🇮🇪A Story About Ireland🇮🇪☘️🍻
Ficción históricaHello! This is an actual attempt at a good story.. So yeah.. Please enjoy. Warning: History Words in other lauguages References to depression and self-harm Swearing Britain being an ass Bad grammar If you want to find out what they mean, put them in...
