yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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metamorphosis2010-01-24 10:50 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-01-24 10:50 am
Entry tags:
32;
Title: August Days
Characters: England, Spain; America in one short.
Rating: Ranges from G to R.
Notes: Originally for Livejournal's 31days prompt community. A series of sentences that I never got around to posting. Only about half of the original prompts; when the other half are finished, those'll be posted as well.
- come up through the summer rain
"It's raining."
"Mmhm!"
"Doesn't it usually stay sunny?"
"Sì! Ah, but it's good for the crops to get rain... It makes my gardening much easier too!"
England frowns contemplatively and sucks hard on his straw.
- paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
Bruises. Blue and red and purple and green (was that a tinge of gray, of black, of rotting flesh underneath the thin skin?) spot the pasty individual and suddenly, Spain feels sick to his stomach and leaves quickly.
Had he really done that?
- when everybody loves you, you can never be lonely
"Are you lonely?"
"No."
"But you're on that island-"
"When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely."
Spain blinked and tilted his head to the side.
"But no one loves you."
- try to keep myself away from me
Every rip and tear and cut and scar - every single one of them, self-inflicted and painfully marked. Spain had just sat and watched and prayed for England's safety.
- lay me down in a field of flame and heather
With the fire above him (too hot to touch, and yet touching and feeling every bit of exposed skin, licking and searing) and the water below him (too cold, so cold, always cold), England moans and wonders what's burning worse:
The fiery man above him or the stinging freeze below him.
- three thousand five hundred miles away
The distance between their houses was only one thousand and seventy-two miles away (and only nine hundred and ninety-one if you took a ferry).
Every time Spain looked at him, England seemed to be three thousand and five hundred miles away.
- seven for a secret never to be told
"Remember, you can't tell anyone."
"Got it, Arturo!"
"...D-don't use that name with me either, y'dog."
"Ahahaha~ So what's the secret?"
England bites his lip, then scoffs and turns away.
"Never mind. It's nothing."
Spain watches his retreating back with a mixture of disappointment and curiousity.
- love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness
"They say a train runs a midnight, but it isn't a regular train. This train is full of the dead."
England laughs and turns off the flashlight, sitting on the rails with Spain and America of the supposed haunted train station.
"This is the place it's supposed to run. This is, really, an abandoned train station. Nothing comes through here anymore."
America blinks, and glances at Spain, who cocks an ear to the side.
"If no trains run through here anymore, then why do I hear one?"
England's face whitens at the rumbling sound (getting closer, closer) and it's an excellent sign for them to get the hell out of there.
- but what would you change if you could?
"You're fine with how things are?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"You're not an empire any more."
"Neither are you."
"I guess that's true."
Spain chuckles, then raises his hand and blocks the sun.
"But what would you change if you could?"
England doesn't respond.
- out of the lightning dream
He raises his fingers - "Thundaga!" - and lightning flies from the digits. The grimoire's closed and England falls to his knees, laughing. The tree smolders, and Spain stops in mid-bite of his apple.
- the contrast of white on white
The contrast of white on white ("Are you a vampire?" "There's not a lot of sun.") is stunningly beautiful, and Spain cannot resist it; he reddens the pale skin with sharp bites (like a shark's teeth cutting, sawing, through the scales of a fish) and hickeys. England writhes and hates it, hates the rain.
- step out the front door like a ghost
When the door opened, Spain flinched; the England he saw was haggard, a mere ghost of his former self, so strong and healthy before the bombing.
- in between the moon and you
The sea rises and washes away everything the sand has cultivated; the sun chases the moon, to give it comfort and warmth, but the moon declines and sprints faster; a cloud blocks the sun's beauty, wanting it only for itself and for no one else to see.
Watching England sit in a fairy circle - a circle of small mushrooms, Spain thinks - and chat to the very visible, at last, Fae, he wonders if there's anything that wouldn't describe the two of them over time.
- will you catch if I'm falling?
Content, England sat back and watched Spain's mighty empire crumble.
- under the gun
The pistol was cocked; a smirk played on England's lips; the finger tightened on the trigger -
A pistol was locked and pulled; a smile brightened Spain's face; and England's gun clattered to the floor, accompanied by a scream and the slumping of his body. A moment later, England raises his hand to his chest and rubs the free flowing blood between his fingers.
"Well,"
Raspy.
"That's going to sting in the morning."
Characters: England, Spain; America in one short.
Rating: Ranges from G to R.
Notes: Originally for Livejournal's 31days prompt community. A series of sentences that I never got around to posting. Only about half of the original prompts; when the other half are finished, those'll be posted as well.
- come up through the summer rain
"It's raining."
"Mmhm!"
"Doesn't it usually stay sunny?"
"Sì! Ah, but it's good for the crops to get rain... It makes my gardening much easier too!"
England frowns contemplatively and sucks hard on his straw.
- paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
Bruises. Blue and red and purple and green (was that a tinge of gray, of black, of rotting flesh underneath the thin skin?) spot the pasty individual and suddenly, Spain feels sick to his stomach and leaves quickly.
Had he really done that?
- when everybody loves you, you can never be lonely
"Are you lonely?"
"No."
"But you're on that island-"
"When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely."
Spain blinked and tilted his head to the side.
"But no one loves you."
- try to keep myself away from me
Every rip and tear and cut and scar - every single one of them, self-inflicted and painfully marked. Spain had just sat and watched and prayed for England's safety.
- lay me down in a field of flame and heather
With the fire above him (too hot to touch, and yet touching and feeling every bit of exposed skin, licking and searing) and the water below him (too cold, so cold, always cold), England moans and wonders what's burning worse:
The fiery man above him or the stinging freeze below him.
- three thousand five hundred miles away
The distance between their houses was only one thousand and seventy-two miles away (and only nine hundred and ninety-one if you took a ferry).
Every time Spain looked at him, England seemed to be three thousand and five hundred miles away.
- seven for a secret never to be told
"Remember, you can't tell anyone."
"Got it, Arturo!"
"...D-don't use that name with me either, y'dog."
"Ahahaha~ So what's the secret?"
England bites his lip, then scoffs and turns away.
"Never mind. It's nothing."
Spain watches his retreating back with a mixture of disappointment and curiousity.
- love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness
"They say a train runs a midnight, but it isn't a regular train. This train is full of the dead."
England laughs and turns off the flashlight, sitting on the rails with Spain and America of the supposed haunted train station.
"This is the place it's supposed to run. This is, really, an abandoned train station. Nothing comes through here anymore."
America blinks, and glances at Spain, who cocks an ear to the side.
"If no trains run through here anymore, then why do I hear one?"
England's face whitens at the rumbling sound (getting closer, closer) and it's an excellent sign for them to get the hell out of there.
- but what would you change if you could?
"You're fine with how things are?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"You're not an empire any more."
"Neither are you."
"I guess that's true."
Spain chuckles, then raises his hand and blocks the sun.
"But what would you change if you could?"
England doesn't respond.
- out of the lightning dream
He raises his fingers - "Thundaga!" - and lightning flies from the digits. The grimoire's closed and England falls to his knees, laughing. The tree smolders, and Spain stops in mid-bite of his apple.
- the contrast of white on white
The contrast of white on white ("Are you a vampire?" "There's not a lot of sun.") is stunningly beautiful, and Spain cannot resist it; he reddens the pale skin with sharp bites (like a shark's teeth cutting, sawing, through the scales of a fish) and hickeys. England writhes and hates it, hates the rain.
- step out the front door like a ghost
When the door opened, Spain flinched; the England he saw was haggard, a mere ghost of his former self, so strong and healthy before the bombing.
- in between the moon and you
The sea rises and washes away everything the sand has cultivated; the sun chases the moon, to give it comfort and warmth, but the moon declines and sprints faster; a cloud blocks the sun's beauty, wanting it only for itself and for no one else to see.
Watching England sit in a fairy circle - a circle of small mushrooms, Spain thinks - and chat to the very visible, at last, Fae, he wonders if there's anything that wouldn't describe the two of them over time.
- will you catch if I'm falling?
Content, England sat back and watched Spain's mighty empire crumble.
- under the gun
The pistol was cocked; a smirk played on England's lips; the finger tightened on the trigger -
A pistol was locked and pulled; a smile brightened Spain's face; and England's gun clattered to the floor, accompanied by a scream and the slumping of his body. A moment later, England raises his hand to his chest and rubs the free flowing blood between his fingers.
"Well,"
Raspy.
"That's going to sting in the morning."