Ok...this is the first chapter of Antarctic Requiem. Currently at 1672 words. Unfortunately, I don't own Hetalia, I don't own Antarctica (the country), yet I do own Antarctica (the person).
I thought about writing this for a while, yet didn't fully re-start it until a week ago, so it was kinda sitting and collecting dust in my laptop. Yeah...longest thing I've ever written...
Well, hope you enjoy!
Also, please nit-pick this like Hell, and tell me how to improve...please?
On the 28th June, in an unspecified year, Sharma Kirkland died in Alfred F. Jones' house in California, at 9:19 pm on a Saturday, with a heavy curtain of sweat all over him. This was immediately found 'interesting' by the people of America and the world, yet tragic to those few souls who knew him. He was assumed to have sweated to death, rather weird, yet it was gobbled up by the audiences like China's cooking.
And on the 28th of June one year later, a man was grieving.
Exactly one year ago, Antarctica lost his best friend Arctic, thanks to the stupidity of humanity. He blamed then all for not doing something for the cold nation, the only one who was like him. A Pole. Arctic had given Antarctica a name, which he had immediately dropped after the death of Sharma, and caught the earliest plane to Argentina, before going on a boat trip to his icy home in the south.
Antarctica had mourned for absolute days while the rest of the world puzzled the death of Sharma Kirkland, and grew pity for the total meltdown of the North Pole, bothering not to do in the direction of apologies and promises and pathetic diplomatic meetings full of rubbish. The nation-people held a small funeral, mainly for stupid political reasons, as no-one wanted to be on the bad side of a nation who belonged mainly to another nation who had ties to a certain former delinquent who could potentially get others involved, while the Antarctic nation was one who could whip out a spiked boot and pick-axe faster than you could say, 'Multi-Cultural'.
So here Antarctica stood, months later, in the middle of a blizzard in winter, tears forming into ice every time they left his eyes. He missed the Arctic nation. He missed the conversations they had. He missed the unfair chess matches with General Winter. He even missed the teasing of Australia. People had left him alone to grieve and mourn, and aside from that, they could not withstand the cold like he could, and fled before becoming frostbitten.
Australia. Was he worried? He said he'd visit soon. Had he lied? Or was he waiting for winter to ease its grip on the Antarctic continent? Antarctica so dearly hoped so.
He shook his head. His thoughts were all over the place. He'd have to relax and wait for summer. That'd be the best thing to do for now. Catch up on research, sleep, drink, eat, wait and live. Nodding to himself, he pulled his clothes, simple red and black gear for low temperatures, pushed his glasses up his nose, and went back to the deserted research facility. He could feel the wind tease his medium-length black hair back from his head to nip at his scalp, sending avalanches of cold rocketing down his spine and head. He shivered, and continued on.
When Antarctica was back in the research facility, he firstly removed his glasses and cleaned then gently, before placing them in their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. After all, he wouldn't want to lose the area Mawson's Hut was in.
The next thing he did was hobble over to his bed, take off his glasses again, and fell asleep.
The next day brought no comfort. It was still as black as night, and he still had experiments to do, things to check up on, and time to kill. He hobbled his way over to the kettle, flipping the switch and leaning against the table. He drifted into his thoughts, ones of ice and snow and British flags and ships, The Antarctic Treaty signing, and of the ever growing hole above him.
A sharp squeal tugged him sharply out of his thoughts, and he quickly flipped off the kettle, and poured the hot water into the mug that was permanently there, always with a tea-bag in there. Quickly dumping the tea-bag in the bin, he took a long sip, and sighed.
Just another month and a bit. Antarctica could hardly wait.
Antarctica had practically jumped out of bed on the first morning of Summer, eager for the first day of which the brave would come to his land to study, and research his vast stretch of ice and earth.
Of course, he was also excited, because now he could look forward to Australia coming over, and now he could await the news that would follow Australia behind like sheep to the Sheppard. But for now, Antarctica could just enjoy the fact that people were arriving, and that that feeling of emptiness would nearly evaporate. He wondered for a second if that was how Russia felt, that loneliness, when the Baltics and Ukraine and Belarus left him. For that brief moment, he felt sorry for Russia, but that was erased by the happiness that came with the arrival of people and promises of human contact, ones that differed from the penguin contact he got, and different than the seal and whale contact that also came with summer.
'Maybe Weddell will be with the group this time', He thought happily, thinking of the little fur seal that came with the changing of seasons.
Australia hopped off the boat at the base of Mawson, and immediately shivered at the cold. How could Antarctica stand it? He shook off the thought, and ran with full speed towards the small house in which would hold Antarctica. Knocking thrice on the door, he stood back, a happy smile on his face. The door swung open to reveal the Antarctic country, all reds and blacks in contrast to the pale blues and whites of his home. A smile spread across Antarctica's face.
"Australia! I thought you forgot about me!" He laughed, hugging the taller man around the neck.
Australia hugged him back, "How could I forget about you? I'm sure you missed me?" A small smile was his answer, and a gesture for him to go into the hut.
The place hadn't changed. The tea mug was still there; ready to go with a teabag. The rectangular dining room was still as small as 7x9 metres, if his estimate was correct, with a foot on both longer walls being taken up by bench. A small table was in the middle, with two plates in front of two chairs. Antarctica moved out of the small kitchen, flicking on the light switch to the next room as he went on.
The next room was larger, but seemed smaller than it really was. Most of the room on the walls was taken up by maps and desks and equipment and computers, and from what Australia could see, every one of them was doing something different, except for the laptop. He knew that laptop well. It had been one of Arctic's gifts to Antarctica, completely blue with a seal sticker on it, and another custom sticker of Sharma and Antarctica on it. The small laptop was closed, and a thin layer of dust covered it.
The rest of the room was simply a bed with a blue quilt on it. Australia guessed that there must be more covers under there, judging by how cold it was. The next door in the room, if he was not mistaken, led to a bathroom. Australia's eyes turned back to Antarctica, who smiled softly and sat down on the bed. Taking this as an invitation, Australia followed him, and collapsed on the bed. The two laughed, and then slowly lapsed into silence.
Australia was the first to talk, "How've you been?"
"Good," was his reply, "But I've been thinking lately. About us nations. Why do we exist? Think about it. We're just puppets, played by the hands of billions of puppeteers. We hardly affect them, yet if they suddenly launch nuclear missiles, we're doomed. You saw Arctic, and you see Prussia. Prussia can hardly do anything without Germany, and Arctic...Sharma is as dead as my fate. I may not be as old as you, Australia, but you forget, my land may have split off the great lands of Gowanda and Pangaea, but my ice, my ice is as ancient as Arctic. Arctic was thinking for himself, making plans and thinking about the primates that inhabited our lands. There were two Antarctics. Ice, and myself, the combination of Ice and Land. And all the while through this lonely, lonely Winter, I thought. And I realized we are just sheep to the Sheppard that are our people and governments."
Australia nibbled on his lower lip. "You've thought about this a lot...And what do you mean by 'lonely'? You have people who stay here throughout Winter!" Antarctica said nothing. Australia sighed.
"Look, the real reason I'm here is to give you something," Australia dug around in his pockets, and pulled out a plane ticket, "Catch a boat to Argentina, tell Argie 'Hi' for me, and then go to the airport, and catch the plane. Someone will be on the other side, and they will greet you."
Antarctica looked solemn, "This Winter has been lonely because people have been smart, and avoided my lands. But...why come all the way out here, just for plane tickets? Couldn't you send them by boat?" He gently took the tickets from Australia's hand, "It appears that I need to pack..." And he went to the small chest of drawers, pulled out all the clothing, and stuck them into a suitcase. He then proceeded to go into the bathroom and grab a few necessities, and then went to the laptop, packed it and its various cords up. He looked back over his shoulder. "See you. I'll pick up Weddell if I see him, and get him and me some food."
Australia looked after him, and shook his head. Mawson...you didn't used to be so...strict...what happened to the fun Antarctica that I used to know, that helped pick out Sharma's name after a fight about him, which resulted in calling him 'Stupid, human loving, ice eating Sharman'? What happened?
Wow...that completely sucked...And the failed attempt at a cliffie...*shivers*
Well, now that that's cleared up, please don't flame. Please. Constructive Criticism accepted. Actually, please check through every single little thing to tell me how I can improve...Please?