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Literature Text
The breeze blows by, slowly, solemnly, stirring up dead leaves on the ground and carrying them away, tumbling and turning. The sky's beautiful blue color is worn and washed away, replaced with a stormy, miserable grey and ominous clouds, pregnant with brewing storms. Trees are empty, naked, and the sun shines no more than the night's stars as thunder booms in the distance. The air is heavy with the scent of rain. Green grass on the ground is spotted with patches of mud and collections of puddles between the stones.
This peace is disturbed by footsteps, approaching slowly and uncertainly. The boots leave behind prints in the soft earth as they get closer and closer before stopping in front of a large and crumbling stone. A hand reaches out, fingers softly brushing against the old, moss covered stone. It is cold to the touch and the hand retreats cautiously, quivering slightly, returning to its owner. He looks down onto the stone with sad amber eyes as his auburn hair flutters in the wind, painful expression on his handsome face. A rueful smile graces his lips as his hand goes back to the stone, running his fingers along the front to find the inscribed words. His fingertips gently touch weathered and fading ridges, barely there even after having been chiseled back into the stone many different times. He traces over the words he knows by heart, having been the one to write them. Whispering, he follows along the words, his voice strained and weak. He feels rain running down his cheeks and he can hear thunder booming at a constant rate in the distance. Pulling his hand away, he looks up at the sky.
No rain falls onto his face.
He lowers his head and watches a drop fall to the ground, his heart heavy and aching.
He drops to his knees, mud splashing up onto his clothes, in front of the stone memorial.
In front of the grave.
Thunder echoes and rain pours.
The man prays.
This peace is disturbed by footsteps, approaching slowly and uncertainly. The boots leave behind prints in the soft earth as they get closer and closer before stopping in front of a large and crumbling stone. A hand reaches out, fingers softly brushing against the old, moss covered stone. It is cold to the touch and the hand retreats cautiously, quivering slightly, returning to its owner. He looks down onto the stone with sad amber eyes as his auburn hair flutters in the wind, painful expression on his handsome face. A rueful smile graces his lips as his hand goes back to the stone, running his fingers along the front to find the inscribed words. His fingertips gently touch weathered and fading ridges, barely there even after having been chiseled back into the stone many different times. He traces over the words he knows by heart, having been the one to write them. Whispering, he follows along the words, his voice strained and weak. He feels rain running down his cheeks and he can hear thunder booming at a constant rate in the distance. Pulling his hand away, he looks up at the sky.
No rain falls onto his face.
He lowers his head and watches a drop fall to the ground, his heart heavy and aching.
He drops to his knees, mud splashing up onto his clothes, in front of the stone memorial.
In front of the grave.
Thunder echoes and rain pours.
The man prays.
Literature
Axis and Allies: Wa Wa World Ondo
Axis: Wa! Wa! Wa!!
Italy: Sooreesore SORE!
Allies: WA! WA! Wa!!
Russia: Sore soRen!
China: Aiyaa! Aiyaa!
Italy: Sore SOLE!
Italy: Domo ni te wo kumi BUON GIORNO
Japan: Nippon kara konnichiwa~
Germany: Ashinami soroe GUTEN TAG
Italy: Saaa-sa minna de Itaria
SORE!
Everyone: WA! WA! Wa!! WORLD WA! WA! Wa!! WORLD
Italy: Maruku wa ni nari
Germany: Hana ni nari
Everyone: WORLD ondo wo odorimashou
Italy: O SORE!)
France: Hiniku daisuki Igirisu me
England: Jibun daisuki yapparijan!
USA: Koora kenka wa YAMENASAI
Russia: VODKAAA isshoni
China: Ake CHINA Shanghai!
Everyone: WA! WA! Wa!! WORLD WA! WA! Wa!! WORLD
USA: Maruku
Literature
If Hetalia Met The Wizard of Oz
...this is what the character line-up would be!! (IMO ^^)
Dorothy: Ukraine (country girl, meek, polite, what more do you want??)
Toto: China (...just because XD)
Scarecrow: Japan (can't make up his mind--would make sense that he doesn't have one! XP)
Tin Man: Germany (obtuse, rigid, lacking in heartfelt emotion...I'm sorry, I had to! XD)
Cowardly Lion: Italy (do I honestly need to explain this?)
Glinda (the Good Witch): England (Britannica Angel FTW! A very stroppy fairy, but with good intentions)
The Coroner: Russia (delivers the death of the Wicked Witch of the East with a little too much enthusiasm. He even has a song about it (from
Literature
ItalyxReader: Pasta For Christmas
ItalyxReader: Pasta For Christmas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(YOUR POV)
It was pretty close to Christmas. Feliciano walked us over to his house. "Hey Feli?" I asked him. "What is it bella?" He asked in his adorable Italian accent. (Like seriously! Who wouldn't think it was adorable!?) He had been a friend of mine since the third grade when I saved him from a bunch of bullies who teased him for being a coward. After that we became the best friends you'll ever see. "Why are we going to your house?" I asked him. "Well you see bella, I wanted you to stay for a home cooked Christmas meal with my big brother~" He explained. I smiled, "Al
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...I came up with an idea for a drawing about HRE's grave and priest Italy... But it wasn't working how I wanted it to, so I shared with words instead... I hope you like it.
*not fanfiction because there's no name or anything, but I was thinking about Feli while writing it.
*not fanfiction because there's no name or anything, but I was thinking about Feli while writing it.
© 2013 - 2024 PrincessOdile
Comments3
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beautiful, I love your use of descriptive details. It makes me feel like I'm right there with the praying man.