I'm bored.
Since this is basically turning into a sort of blog anyway, I might as well detail what is on my mind.
Which is nothing.
I'm bored, should be doing work, but am procrastinating. Anyway, I wanted to try out the LJ cut feature. So here.
It is a warm summer’s day. The sun beats down on a tanned figure standing among a multitude of tomato plants. A cheerful little song drifts upon the breeze, as the person picks another fruit and places it into his basket. Satisfied, Spain hoists his crop into his arms and carries it back to the house.
After he has set the basket down and taken out the tomatoes, Antonio picks one for himself. He sits at the table in the kitchen. The first bite is always the best; a juicy mouthful of red and he begins to relax. Italy Romano said that he would be paying a visit later in the day. So, just for him, Spain has gone out and chosen some of his best tomatoes. He has made sure to get plenty of Lovino’s favorite kind, as well as some new varieties that he has been experimenting with. But for now, he admires the scenery outside of his window. His beloved tomato field spans the entirety of one acre. This he tends by himself, sometimes with the help of Romano. Suddenly, a dot of yellow flits past his vision; when he looks closer it is only a butterfly. But that alone is enough to make the memories resurface.
He recalls another summer day many, many years ago, when it was as hot as the furnace of a ship and as bright as the sun. The smell of leather, horses, men… and adventure. Shining helmets and swords and the desire to please Almighty God, acquire fame, and gain treasure. Priceless, wonderful treasure, gold and silver and shining jewels hidden in the depths of strange new lands. They were the conquistadors, those noble Spanish warriors of old. And then came the dark-skinned natives. Those hoarders of wealth, who did not have any knowledge as to what to do with their vast stores of gold and silver. It has been a very long time, so the memories of each battle that was fought with the natives meld into one another for him. But Antonio remembers the frenzied cries of men, women, and children. He recalls the feel of a weapon in his hands, sometimes a rapier, other times a battle axe. The thrilling sensation of steel cutting flesh and riding over fallen bodies. Above all, he remembers the lust for gold that enshrouded his mind and sometimes his heart.
However, weakness aside, Spain cannot deny that the empires of the Americas were splendid. Large, beautiful palaces, decorated richly with a multitude of precious materials. Temples gilded with thin gold sheets. And the garb of the empires’ rulers; outlandish, but certainly valuable enough to rival any European monarch’s clothing. This was why, Antonio thinks, he had to conquer South America. For wealth and grandeur to fall into Spanish hands, be bestowed on Spanish heads. His mind turns back to the action of the battlefield. He remembers the suspense of lying in wait, hidden, as the oblivious natives wandered into the trap. Then the rush of excitement as he charged forth to the cry of “Adelante!”, raucous yells scattering the personages at his feet. His weapon had created thin streaks of silver as it slashed all around him. The world was red, tomato red. Everything swirled together under the wide expanse of sky. For a moment, Spain can see before him the glare of steel swords on bronze knives under the hot Mayan sun, clear as day…
“Oi, Spagna.” He is shaken out of his reverie by rough, concerned hands. Romano stands over him, glaring. The keys to the house that Antonio had given him dangle from one fingertip. Spain smiles goofily and offers him the basket of tomatoes. When Romano sits down next to him, he wonders if he remembers those days. Unlikely, of course; South Italy had been but a child back then. Anyway, there are other things to think about: the beauty of nature, the serenity of a passing breeze ruffling the leaves of his tomato plants, the presence of the one he loves beside him…
But he will always remember.