[Fanfic] Held by the Reins
Title: Held by the Reins
Author: Me
Genre: Drama, Tragedy, Angst
Characters: OCPhilippines, Spain, Historical Characters [plenty of them], OC characters [Pay no heed to these persons, if you may]
Rating: K -> T
Disclaimer: I will never, ever own Hetalia.
First of, yes, it's drama, tragedy and angst. Judging from these genres you could already imagine how much of a downer this fic is. But please read it and give your review, it would be much appreciated. Also, please forgive any mistakes in this fic. Please be considerate for I am an amateur (meaning, please be kind about giving criticism :D). So, I guess that's it for the preliminaries. Let's get started, shall we? :)
Prologue
"You look out of those windows and catch carriages carrying on over the stone pavements. These carriages, pulled around by horses who are regarded because of their worth. Though ironically, these animals were better off than the humans surrounding them. Sometimes it would've been better to become a horse than to be delivered to this horrible existence. It had become symbolic in this society, these strong yet clueless horses.
"Our people--they are no less than animal's to the eyes of their captors. No less than a 'thing' to be played and thrown away. They work like animals, treated like animals, and as the many conquistador would imply, 'think' like animals. Horses are better for they don't try to challenge the oppressors, similar because their vision is limited to what our captors wanted them to see, and at times, what 'we' wanted to see.
"This is our situation. We are chained into this predicament--chained like animals. They bounded us but now we have to gain our freedom. You-no-we must fight for our freedom; for your independence. You see the way they mock and strike us--we have been stripped off of our identity and dignity. Everything that has once been 'you' has been taken away. This is not far from being defiled, from being disregarded. Our very existence has been looked at as something minimal and irrelevant.
“I may be repeating everything, but this is necessary to urge you to fight alongside us. We need you-the whole nation needs you. Please, please--you have to fight.”
---
1896
A blessed day-this is for those who do not doubt and speculate. Unbeknownst to them, a turbulent storm is to come.
Everything looks the same. With the townspeople, clad in their clothes made out of the finest materials, they either walked down the stony streets while relishing the warm, resonating light from the sun; or rode on their carriages, feeling the warm supple air pass their faces with tinges of foreign ancestry which were painted with smiles and illustrated all the pleasures their lives have given them.
They adhered to nothing, as everything adhered to them. They were the impenetrable, untouchable, noble Spaniards. Either born in Mother Spain or here in the fragile island country, they were mighty and filled with pride. They matter most in this society-others were simply people of inferior birth, creatures trying to pass as human beings.
A woman gazes out of the window with eyes searching for something she couldn't see but she was sure existed.
She knew what will occur; in her heart she knew this was what she had wanted, but then again, something stops her from thinking so and she turns numb. For many years she had believed that she was one with them, connected deeply, like that of a mother to a child-but then she was wrong. Then she tells herself that she had to stop everything- then again something stops her, and she's thrown into oblivion once again.
She places her right hand over the window pane as she feels the gentle breeze hitting her face as if caressing her-dispersing the worry and fear that grows within her very soul. She wanted those feelings to go away, it will hinder her. Clenching her hand into a ball, she turns, reaching to sit over her rocking chair. She hesitates for a moment before finally sitting down on the unbalanced furniture. It rocked gently, creaking ever so slightly. She runs her hand over the long arm rest. He had said that the appearance looked rather unusual and it was bigger than normal, space consuming, in fact-but it didn't matter for he had said what matters is its use.
Use.
It didn't matter as long as it can be used.
Of course.
She bit her lips as her eyes wander around the room, searching for something that wasn't there; searching for the very reason her heart cringes as intensely as it does at that very moment. She felt it wholly-like being enveloped in sudden cold that even scorching heat would never be enough to diminish. She knew to herself that the only thing that would set her free from the clutches of guilt she was carrying, was death itself. She closed her eyes tightly; imagining what it would be like if her judgment had come. What would become of her? What would become of her land? What would become of everyone, her very people?
But what would become of the person she had intended to hurt for the sake of her freedom? For the sake of justice that she had so much wanted to grasp ever since her eyes laid open to the monstrosity she had been delivered?
She gasped and caught hold of the edges of her seat-how unbearable it would be, to give freedom to her burden while knowing that you'll stomp on the heart of the very person you saw as your greatest love. But how long must she mask her knowledge? How long must she conceal herself? How long will she keep lying?
How long had she been lied to? How long have she been stupid and foolish? It has to stop.
She hugs herself, bending over her seat, her troubled head hovering over her legs. If everything had been settled and contemplated, what is all this fear she has been keeping inside?
Wheels rattled before it took a stop--she lifts her heard and unsteadily, she walked to the window, clutching the panes tight as she desired support to keep her from falling.
All the blood drained from her face. Her whole body trembled with unspoken dread. This is the end.
A familiar figure, heavily trudges his way out of the carriage. She began to wonder faintly, how is it that before, she had always anticipated seeing that form. Now, it sends her to flee-to deny the very fact that she had once been so fond of the warmth it gives her just being near and seeing him. Did Fr. Burgos felt like this before he was executed? Did he feel this very same feeling nudging in every space of his body, mind and soul?
Sounds of light to heavy footsteps came rushing in through her ears. Her heart jumps as she heard that ever so sweet and clear voice filled with all kinds of emotion flowing out with it. Then it occurred to her--she was in between freeing herself and continuing to kiss her conqueror's feet.
"Maria," She gasped but relatively tried to seem as calm as she could--she turned, facing their house servant face on with a smile she was desperate to keep. "Señor Antonio has arrived," she announced before moving aside from the door's pathway to allow the honorable man to enter. Her hands, never leaving the wooden panes, shook with such nervousness with intensity equal to that of someone awaiting sentence. She had begun to imagine, now of all time,
Words remain unspoken. Feelings remained repressed. She had to hide behind a facade she was entrusted to perform as not to reveal her knowledge of what lies ahead. She will lie and continue to do so until retribution has come--retribution against the very man standing before her.
It was like her whole existence flashed before her--images of early days which had been long buried in the sea of memories. This very man before her--he had entered and had promised promises that sound so sweet to her ears. Yet she had seen where these promises have gone and took her, and she had seen how these promises were broken, shattered into millions of pieces.
Maria clenched her hands, not minding the stinging pain as her nails dug deep into the flesh of her palm. She listened, as he spoke in his familiar voice.
His words in her native tongue--it was like listening to a sweet melody or a lullaby that is often sung to you before your slumber. He reached for his pocket and took something out that sent Maria to doubt and regret. She took it with her hands and gripped her fingers tightly.
Someone barges into the room--his gun clattering over the polished wooden floors, hands and voice trembling as if in unison, uttering words that sounded profanities in Antonio's ears. Antonio inquires, his face showed anguish and panic.
At last she could not bear it.
There was cluttering on the floor. Both Antonio and the soldier shot their eyes back at Maria whose expression gave it all.
Revolution as broken out.
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Bazinga. ;)