A Warm Place [1/2]
anonymous
February 10 2010, 16:00:14 UTC
“Can I look yet?”
“Not yet! Keep walking!”
Russia sighed for the hundredth time and kept his feet moving, cautiously slow since his eyes were still covered by America's hands. He didn't entirely trust the smaller country to not steer him into a tree or a frozen lake.
Something strange was going on. The other countries had been suspiciously absent all week, canceling meetings and refusing to answer their phones no matter how much Russia called. He suspected that they were doing something fun and intentionally excluding him (like always) and resolved to ignore it. They would win if he was actually hurt by this bit of petty cruelty.
But then things had gotten even stranger; Medvedev had seemed determined to keep him away from his house for the last few days, insisting that he come to 'very important' meetings away from home, but the meetings were mostly full of fluff. It was as though his boss was trying to stall for something.
He arrived back at home, only to find America, of all people, waiting for him at his front door, claiming that he had a surprise in the backyard for Russia. He had been very gleeful about it. Russia was expecting the worst, but for a reason he couldn't quite name, he allowed America to cover his eyes and steer him blindly to the back. It would probably be better if he could just get this prank over with and go back to his life. He was feeling depressed already without having to put up with this nonsense. Winter always got him down. He had put plastic sunflowers in his room, but the fake flowers didn't do much to cheer him up. He longed for the real things, but they were not available to him now. That was how it always was. He was always too cold for the things he loved.
“Shoot, I have to move my hands for a sec...keep those eyes closed!”
Russia heaved another sigh and did as he was told. How much longer would this take? There was a sound like a door opening, but they hadn't walked far enough to reach Russia's shed yet...so what was that sound? The only doors in his back yard were the one to his house and the one to his shed... But then America's hands were over his eyes again, pushing him forward. He stepped up half a step, and the ground changed from uneven earth and damp snow snow to flat flooring. It was warm too, very warm, and the smell of sunflowers was thick in the air.
The door creaked shut behind him, and America finally said, “Okay, now you can look!”
Russia opened his eyes and gasped. Sunflowers. There were rows and rows of sunflowers in front of him, almost blindingly bright. A greenhouse, that's where he was! But he was still in his backyard! He could see his house through the glass paneling. This certainly hadn't been there when he left...
“Like it?” America asked hopefully. “We really had to scramble to put this thing together while you were gone-”
“'We?'” Russia asked faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from the flowers. He was still waiting for the punchline, for someone to drop something on his head or burn up all the beautiful flowers and yell 'gotcha!'
“Not yet! Keep walking!”
Russia sighed for the hundredth time and kept his feet moving, cautiously slow since his eyes were still covered by America's hands. He didn't entirely trust the smaller country to not steer him into a tree or a frozen lake.
Something strange was going on. The other countries had been suspiciously absent all week, canceling meetings and refusing to answer their phones no matter how much Russia called. He suspected that they were doing something fun and intentionally excluding him (like always) and resolved to ignore it. They would win if he was actually hurt by this bit of petty cruelty.
But then things had gotten even stranger; Medvedev had seemed determined to keep him away from his house for the last few days, insisting that he come to 'very important' meetings away from home, but the meetings were mostly full of fluff. It was as though his boss was trying to stall for something.
He arrived back at home, only to find America, of all people, waiting for him at his front door, claiming that he had a surprise in the backyard for Russia. He had been very gleeful about it. Russia was expecting the worst, but for a reason he couldn't quite name, he allowed America to cover his eyes and steer him blindly to the back. It would probably be better if he could just get this prank over with and go back to his life. He was feeling depressed already without having to put up with this nonsense. Winter always got him down. He had put plastic sunflowers in his room, but the fake flowers didn't do much to cheer him up. He longed for the real things, but they were not available to him now. That was how it always was. He was always too cold for the things he loved.
“Shoot, I have to move my hands for a sec...keep those eyes closed!”
Russia heaved another sigh and did as he was told. How much longer would this take? There was a sound like a door opening, but they hadn't walked far enough to reach Russia's shed yet...so what was that sound? The only doors in his back yard were the one to his house and the one to his shed... But then America's hands were over his eyes again, pushing him forward. He stepped up half a step, and the ground changed from uneven earth and damp snow snow to flat flooring. It was warm too, very warm, and the smell of sunflowers was thick in the air.
The door creaked shut behind him, and America finally said, “Okay, now you can look!”
Russia opened his eyes and gasped. Sunflowers. There were rows and rows of sunflowers in front of him, almost blindingly bright. A greenhouse, that's where he was! But he was still in his backyard! He could see his house through the glass paneling. This certainly hadn't been there when he left...
“Like it?” America asked hopefully. “We really had to scramble to put this thing together while you were gone-”
“'We?'” Russia asked faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from the flowers. He was still waiting for the punchline, for someone to drop something on his head or burn up all the beautiful flowers and yell 'gotcha!'
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