Sing Sung Songs [1/?]
anonymous
February 23 2010, 22:20:42 UTC
Screw this, have some now. Those details above to be added in at some point.
Sing Sung Songs
--
In a field of flowers, Canada follows his brother America.
America hadn’t much of an interest in him at first, but as Canada had visited more often America couldn’t help but pay attention to him. And now, they were fine, laughed, ran, played, together. Like on most sunny days when it’s not too bright either will be blinded or come back red faced from sun but rather lack of breath, a game of tag. Canada thinks at times like these when America is not ignoring him or calling him boring they’re actually friends. Brothers. You can’t help but love your brother after all.
Yet there is a line.
Canada is aware of this line, it separates the love he has for America and the love he has for England and the love he has for France. He loves them all in very different ways. Once he’d even asked France about it, these differences and patting the top of his head, gently France had softly looked at him, told him yes. Many kinds of love exist.
When he’d told America this they’d gotten into an argument. Out of anger Canada had physically drawn this line in the mud with a stick, between him and America; he’d still been riled up quiet in his anger. Besides, America hadn’t even known he’d been upset to begin with and Canada remembers the cross look America had had with his folded arms, pouting by the wood shed as he looked down over at the line between them.
Canada had expected America, who is always usually sharp, and quick to learn at everything to inform him he doesn’t need a line, he sees these differences, he knows. England teaches him everything he needs to know alright?
But instead he’d started to blur it out with his foot, getting his boot horrendously dirty. Canada knows he’ll forget to wash them up and will trail mud in the house and England will become angry and clean it up and then take America to his room to scold him and what else Canada doesn’t really know. England does that often, take America to his room whenever he has something to say, just to America, Canada thinks, because he can never say it in front of Canada. Canada had tried asking a few times if England only took America to his room to speak with him when he was around, America had replied something like, a long pauses, a hitch in his shoulders, yes. Otherwise England would just tell him in the room they were in alone.
As America had blurred that line he brought back what they’d been fighting about- “There’s only one kind of love in this world!”
Which is why when America holds his hands and pulls him close, or shares his apple with Canada, or pokes him with his elbow, laughs, a stupid joke and wants Canada to laugh with him- that’s why once when Canada had said, “I love you brother,” America had replied, brow tangled, confused, “You’re mistaken, you like me! I like you too!”
As if that made any sense.
Once, Canada thinks.
To America love was a word not lightly used.
--
When they come in from playing, as always the more explorative America has dirtier knees, hands, face- everything in comparison to Canada is dirtier; England shaking his head had told America he’ll need more water than the one they keep in the wash basin and tugs America along to the well that’s out around the house. America protests, the well water will be cold, and England tells him the day is warm enough he won’t catch sick, he’d never allow that.
Sing Sung Songs
--
In a field of flowers, Canada follows his brother America.
America hadn’t much of an interest in him at first, but as Canada had visited more often America couldn’t help but pay attention to him. And now, they were fine, laughed, ran, played, together. Like on most sunny days when it’s not too bright either will be blinded or come back red faced from sun but rather lack of breath, a game of tag. Canada thinks at times like these when America is not ignoring him or calling him boring they’re actually friends. Brothers. You can’t help but love your brother after all.
Yet there is a line.
Canada is aware of this line, it separates the love he has for America and the love he has for England and the love he has for France. He loves them all in very different ways. Once he’d even asked France about it, these differences and patting the top of his head, gently France had softly looked at him, told him yes. Many kinds of love exist.
When he’d told America this they’d gotten into an argument. Out of anger Canada had physically drawn this line in the mud with a stick, between him and America; he’d still been riled up quiet in his anger. Besides, America hadn’t even known he’d been upset to begin with and Canada remembers the cross look America had had with his folded arms, pouting by the wood shed as he looked down over at the line between them.
Canada had expected America, who is always usually sharp, and quick to learn at everything to inform him he doesn’t need a line, he sees these differences, he knows. England teaches him everything he needs to know alright?
But instead he’d started to blur it out with his foot, getting his boot horrendously dirty. Canada knows he’ll forget to wash them up and will trail mud in the house and England will become angry and clean it up and then take America to his room to scold him and what else Canada doesn’t really know. England does that often, take America to his room whenever he has something to say, just to America, Canada thinks, because he can never say it in front of Canada. Canada had tried asking a few times if England only took America to his room to speak with him when he was around, America had replied something like, a long pauses, a hitch in his shoulders, yes. Otherwise England would just tell him in the room they were in alone.
As America had blurred that line he brought back what they’d been fighting about- “There’s only one kind of love in this world!”
Which is why when America holds his hands and pulls him close, or shares his apple with Canada, or pokes him with his elbow, laughs, a stupid joke and wants Canada to laugh with him- that’s why once when Canada had said, “I love you brother,” America had replied, brow tangled, confused, “You’re mistaken, you like me! I like you too!”
As if that made any sense.
Once, Canada thinks.
To America love was a word not lightly used.
--
When they come in from playing, as always the more explorative America has dirtier knees, hands, face- everything in comparison to Canada is dirtier; England shaking his head had told America he’ll need more water than the one they keep in the wash basin and tugs America along to the well that’s out around the house. America protests, the well water will be cold, and England tells him the day is warm enough he won’t catch sick, he’d never allow that.
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