Dream [004] ☼
[Warnings for not fun history. No blood or anything, but...]
Spain’s breathing was harsh and labored as he ran. He was normally in good shape, but this war had taken its toll on him. His entire body ached, and every step sent a jolt of pain through him.
But he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t.
He had to do something.
The arena loomed before him.
Normally it was filled with happily screaming, cheering crowds, watching the popular bullfights.
Now it was filled with screaming of a different sort, and Spain’s breathing stopped for a moment as his heart clenched painfully. His people were in there. They were in there and they were terrified and-
Shots rang out.
Spain dropped to his knees, unable to control his legs, one hand on the ground and the other clutching at his chest, where he could feel nothing but sharp, throbbing pain. He looked up at the building, tears streaming down his horrified face.
His people had been killed. He knew that; there was no other explanation for the horrible, horrible pain pulsing through his body.
Why would they do this? Why would they kill his people?!
Why would his people kill his people?
“W-why?” was all Spain managed to rasp out.
Then he collapsed.
[Spain wakes with a start, gasping. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s crying. All he does is stare straight ahead, blankly. So much has been happening lately, he had almost...forgotten what was happening at home, and the sudden remembrance hurts.
tiny ooc note: Spain's dreaming about the Massacre of Badajoz.]
Spain’s breathing was harsh and labored as he ran. He was normally in good shape, but this war had taken its toll on him. His entire body ached, and every step sent a jolt of pain through him.
But he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t.
He had to do something.
The arena loomed before him.
Normally it was filled with happily screaming, cheering crowds, watching the popular bullfights.
Now it was filled with screaming of a different sort, and Spain’s breathing stopped for a moment as his heart clenched painfully. His people were in there. They were in there and they were terrified and-
Shots rang out.
Spain dropped to his knees, unable to control his legs, one hand on the ground and the other clutching at his chest, where he could feel nothing but sharp, throbbing pain. He looked up at the building, tears streaming down his horrified face.
His people had been killed. He knew that; there was no other explanation for the horrible, horrible pain pulsing through his body.
Why would they do this? Why would they kill his people?!
Why would his people kill his people?
“W-why?” was all Spain managed to rasp out.
Then he collapsed.
[Spain wakes with a start, gasping. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s crying. All he does is stare straight ahead, blankly. So much has been happening lately, he had almost...forgotten what was happening at home, and the sudden remembrance hurts.
tiny ooc note: Spain's dreaming about the Massacre of Badajoz.]