England sighed loudly. He had just spent the last few hours unpacking from his trip and making dinner for America and himself.
Speaking of America, it was much too quiet in the house. Whenever it was quiet it was a sure sign that America was up to something. Last time it was this silent England had found America scribbling all over the walls with his good quill pen. England had then spent the next two days scrubbing ink off the walls and the paint had come off too. Then he had to paint the walls all over again. And while he was doing this he had America at his feet asking constantly for a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
England went around the house calling for America. The increasing silence was making England nervous. America surely knew not to put anything strange in his mouth, right?
It was a great relief to England when he remembered that after he gave America that bouquet he was whining about America left the house.
Then he remembered that America had left the house.
England threw on his coat and ran out of the house without even locking the door or covering dinner with a plate. He ran around outside screaming America’s name.
“AMERICA?! AMERICA! WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?!” he was beginning to get hysterical. Yes, he knew that his little brother was super strong but a bear could attack him from behind! Or strange men might kidnap him! Or worse.
He might run into France.
France may have been taking care of what’s-his-name but England knew that he also wanted America. England would not let that weirdo get America. He wanted America to stay with him.
England ran into a nearby town. There seemed to be a lot of commotion happening in the town today. The church seemed bustling. England would have ignored it if it wasn’t for a few forget-me-nots trailing behind the church. England swallowed. He saw a cart dressed with black fabric. Didn’t America have any sense not crash a funeral?
England went behind the church to see a swarm of people. They were eating food from the tables, talking, laughing and crying. He frowned. America had probably smelled the food and decided to have a bite to eat. He was going to have to teach America better manners and make him apologize to the family if anyone spotted them. It was going to be embarrassing for a country. He hoped he could just find America and leave without anyone seeing them.
He looked around. England’s eyes widened when he was America at the casket talking to a young boy. England quickly walked over.
“America, what are you doing?” he asked.
“D-davie doesn’t recognize me anymore!” America sobbed, pointing to the young boy, who looked very confused. England glanced at the young boy and then at the body in the coffin. He put the pieces together very quickly when he noticed the boy had an uncanny resemblance to the body.
“I’m not Davie!” the boy exclaimed. “My grandfather was named Davie!”
England nodded. He was dreading having to explain to America the concept of death and humans. He would rather be giving the equally uncomfortable talk about how babies are made.
England kneeled down to America’s eye level.
“America,” he began, “the boy isn’t Davie.”
“Yes he is!” America shouted. “I know he is! He looks exactly like Davie!”
“America, Davie is the old man in the casket.” England told him. America blinked. He was silent for a few moments before nearly screaming, “Then why won’t he answer me?!”
“Davie passed away.” England explained patiently.
“Passed away? But he hasn’t gone away! He’s right there!” America cried, pointing to the coffin. “I don’t under—I don’t understand England!”
The older country swallowed and took out his handkerchief. He wiped away the tears and mucus from his little brother’s face.
“Well, Davie died. Remember when the bird flew into the window?”
America sniffed and nodded.
“The bird’s body stopped working and Davie’s did too.”
“B-but why is he in the box? I don’t like him in the box! I don’t want him to be in the box!” America was getting hysterical.
“They are going to bury him.” England said gently.
“In the ground?!”
“But I don’t want Davie to be in the ground! I want him to enjoy his forget-me-nots! He can’t enjoy his flowers if he’s in the ground England! He can’t!”
“I know. But Davie was old and he died. He can’t enjoy his flowers either way.” England said. He knew that all of the people at the funeral were staring at them. It was starting to make him uneasy.
“E-england! He could of enjoyed his flowers if you came back earlier! Why didn’t you come back earlier?! It’s all your fault!”
“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! DAVIE COULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY WITH HIS FLOWERS!”
“America I can’t control the weather…”
“AND DAVIE GOT MAD ‘CAUSE I DIDN’T BRING THE FLOWERS!” America sobbed. England picked him up.
“Shhhhhh…it’s okay. Davie didn’t get mad.”
“YES HE DID!” America screamed. “HE DIDN’T KNOW WHO I WAS!” America sobbed into England’s silk jacket. “He didn’t know who I was England…he didn’t know…”
England held his little brother tightly. They were causing a fuss…
England quickly left the church grounds and carried a sobbing America home.
This journal is for
artists who want to
commissions, or want
to open commissions
and never had so
they don't know how
best to present
their art, or even
for those artists
who took commissions
before but would
appreciate some more
tips :DThere are a
few pretty important
This is my 6th
giveaway .We all
opened this giveaway
Two 50 points
Four 25 points
: Five 20 p...
fellow artistsHi :)
- so I'm starting
new series of
journals with useful
resources - mainly
because I'm running
out of topics to
write about and I
just like some
continue to post
journals too every
now and then)Here
are some of my
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More