What stories tell

That day everything changed, no one could believe their eyes, nor ears when the news broke out. The great city had been bombed. Hetalia fanfic

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1. Beginning of an end

The streets were empty and everything was now quiet. The only movement was the silent fog that rode over the empty streets, causing the remaining buildings to look scarier than ever. Dust had been pilling up in every corner of the streets the houses have long since been empty. And if there was a faint life somewhere inside, the chance they would survive much longer was small. The large houses that normally stood high in the sky, showing how great this city once had been, were shot down when the city had been bombed. Leaving only small ruins left. So every step the he took toward the centrum was harder than ever it had ever been. Before it had even been easier, -even with the cars roaring down the streets-, to walk toward the centrum. Leaving no one a chance to cross. No it was difficult to walk, even breath. 

Not many had survived the bombings, yet here he stood, looking at the once great city. Watching quietly as the first snowflake fell over the dead city, he stood very still. Every breath he took, every step, every look around was a pain in his chest. It was hard to imagine that this had once been his city. That this had once been the place he called home. The wind blew cold in his face, greeted him with a new smell that was unknown to him. It wasn’t death, neither was it the smell of the living city, the cars that would normally roar around and cause this place to become so noisy. No, it was the smell of metal, and fire. Never before had he imagined that this city could be like that. The tall man scanned the area and strolled down the streets. He could remember the streets so well. This had been the place where he had grown up; this had been the place where everything happened. He could remember every single street in his head. The streets to the left lead to a nice little café where his sisters and him had once dined. It has been a long time since but memories still awoke as he passed by. To the streets at the right they would have lead him to the little flower shop he loved so much; It had been there he would buy all those lovely sunflowers. If you continued straight ahead you would end up in the centrum of the city. There had been so much life in there. Now there was barely a car left.  

The ruins from the old church stood still and looked at the Russian with a hollow empty facade. Yes, this city, his only home, was dead. The tall lonely drifter’s eyes skimmed over the street one more time before he turned on his heels. This had been his home, it might not have been perfect, but it had been his home. People had lived here, people with dreams, families, and hopes. His people. Yes this is, no it had been, Moscow. 

Ivan’s eyes were cold and full of hatred as he stared at the destroyed city before him. How could one man do this to him? How could he ever think that it was okay to kill so many innocent people, people who didn’t even know what this war was about? He was going to take revenge if it then would be the last thing he would ever do. 

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