walk away- England
Serie of drabbles inspired in the sentence ‘walk away’. Series of useless angst. Canonverse England, rating T with no pairings. Warnings:none I own nothing nor make profit with these short stories. Notes. Thank you for reading and forgive me for any mistake.
Leaving is hard.
Letting all behind and go for the unknown is scary, thrilling and a dangerous mix for the most part.
England knows this better than many.
Yet, he was forced to leave Kings and Queens, lovers and friends, his beloved colonies and lands.
For most part is the curse of being immortal and nation. Some times are choices he makes.
He doesn’t regret them even when they let a sour taste on his mouth.
As most nations, England holds people dearly on his memory people, memories of tastes, smells, the recognition of land and dirt on his skin, the bite marks on flesh from fights and lovers, the fading faces leaving only a sense of being.
All gone and others hold different things as object, pieces of cloth, pieces of art. Pieces of something that they were once.
England was always different, he prides himself in being different. Having something palpable to believe, to have, to feel.
Some things you can’t let go and he’s bound to the sea since the very beginning of his existence.
A little piece of land, so fragile and harsh hidden in the middle of the sea, almost touching other’s lands but not quite.
He feasts on the supplies of his land, resources he prides himself of having, sails on that sea for his own amusement and need coming to the other’s once in a while not really feeling alone but needing human touch.
The sea is a long time friend and it brings comfort, protection but sometimes the smell of nauseating death and fish to England and when he realises he has a powerful friend that can crush his land, his people, his essence in no time he steps back.
He loves the sea so dearly it pains him to even consider it but sometimes you must walk away before those dearly things turn into your destruction.
He loved, died, reborn and even prayed on the sea.
He saw dread and vicious fights against nature and others on those vast seas. He saw love and hope when new land or old land was on sight.
He had save on that sea, he was saved too but he doesn't remember most. He remembers the thrill and freedom.
He simply remembers the taste of sea, the wetness on his skin, the blue collapsing against burning wood and the smell of salt and smoke on his nose, almost burning his eyes with the intensity as the cold water caressed his skin almost piercingly.
He remembers swallowing his pride and turn around and making the longest voyages of his life. Always coming back to the sea as an addicted man to his drug of choice.
He saw the savagery of weather and moodiness of the waves but fought to feel them, fight them.
He saw himself in the destruction and felt himself coming and going with the sea.
Falling harder and harder into the pits of despair with the crushing need to be in the middle of it, almost losing the connection with his own people, land in favour of that smelly cold salty breeze on his skin. Wetness on his feet and the control over that blue monster that led him towards everywhere he wanted.
Those days are gone though.
With heavy steps and a loss that can’t compare to nothing he walked away, barefeet burning above hot sand and cold hands still wet from the salty water. England held his chin up high and not looking once behind he walked away from the love of a lifetime.
England walked away from the sea