So I won't make millions of threads
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:19pm
Thread Topic: So I won't make millions of threads
-
I can already tell you, you're gonna see a s---load of ArgChi and SalvaMex here.
Also some Dodo/Mittaro so I can get a mood set for when I decide to start my awesome original thing. xD
I already have something for SalvaMex so wait up.. -
It's sad how you love someone for such a long time and then they leave you. A lot.
"I am leaving."
"Again?"
"The war hasn't ended."
"Everyday it's the same.."
"Don't pout like that, Victor. Have you not learned anything? Look.." The tall figure leans over me and grasps my cheek tenderly. "When I am finished, we can be together again, and then we can do the things we used to do. Okay?"
A frown passes through my faces. How many times has he said that? "That gives you no reason to keep me in this place. I hate it here. It's cold and it's lonely. I miss you all day."
"Don't whine."
He's strict with me since this war began. Before, we would always laugh at everything. I mean everything. Even the littlest things. We would be so happy. He'd always be so nice and usually let me do as I pleased. Now it's a whole different story. Now he's all mean and.. different.
The walls of his house are so thick the war cannot reach them. He believes I am so safe here.
"Is it almost done?"
"Maybe."
"Will you be back soon?"
"Christ, Victor. It's like we're playing twenty one questions. Perhaps, if I don't get killed."
"Don't die...!" I almost cry. If he dies, I will have no one. Again. I will be alone like I've always been before. Only now, it'll be worse.
"I promise I won't die," he says, and bends down so he can kiss my forehead. "I will return soon. When I do, I want to see you here, si?" His voice is cold and I can't tell if he really is promising these things, or just saying them. He never showed many emotions as far as I remember. It was usually anger, happiness, and bitterness he showed. Nothing like sorrow or care. Right now, he was rather bitter.
"I've never left your side, Enriquez." God, the way he smiles when I call him by his middle name always cheers me up. I know it isn't one of happiness, just a smile, it makes me happy.
"I hope you won't do it now, Mister Aguilar."
"I swear to it."
He leaves and I am alone. I don't dare look out the window because I won't be able to stand watching him leave.
Besides the dogs that howl at night, I am alone and I don't have much interraction with anyone else. I prefer not to, anyway.
I know, then, that I will remain alone this way for the very most of a few weeks. -
Sure as hell this ain't dying..
----
My sister and I don't communicate in the weeks that he is gone. We never do, really. Fernando is incredibly strict on his rule on not talking to her.
I know she's a good person though. Very beautiful, he's told me once before, and very kind of heart. Also, she tends to be very insistant on the fact that she loves me, which makes me smile.
I've never gotten to see her during the time I've been here because her home is just too far. That's why he doesn't want me to go; he thinks it's too far and someone will try to capture me.
My sister is also rather lonely. She has people to talk to, but she just has some problems socializing. People have called her vain and a whore before, and because of that she doesn't really talk very much to other people. Well, that's what Fernando has told me many times. He shakes his head whenever he says it, and always ends with, "Really, your sister is a good girl." Though it's hard to tell if he's really feeling sorry for her, or if he's just saying it.
She shares almost the same name with me; Victoria. She looks very similar to me, except I'm pretty sure she's taller and her skin is a bit less dark. Also, her eyes are violet and mine are brown.
Then I wonder if he ever visits his brothers. If Mr. Vargas visits them. Surely he thinks about them, usually when he prays, he prays for their safety and for nothing bad to happen to them. But I wonder if he even talks to them in person, and how he acts with them. Surely different. They're his brothers and I'm nothing more than a friend. Or pet...
Other than thinking, I pass the time running indoor errands and such, and also I tended to his crops outside. Yes, he had a big house. He let me go to the outside garden whenever I pleased, but I still felt like a caged bird. There was a thick wall of cement separating the garden from the rest of the world. Nonetheless, it was still okay. At least I wasn't completely caged.
The walls weren't high, they were just think. But outside the walls there are cacti. I might injure myself badly if I try to escape. Then I won't ever be allowed in that garden again.
They were made thick because he always had the thought of attacks being done on them. Therefore they make it harder for someone to invade his home.
He always had the idea as keeping me for his own. His own child he'd always wanted with Linda. But since she broke apart from him after only two years, he never got the chance.
Which is why he took me. He took me from my sister, my friends, and my home.
I couldn't say I was completely miserable though. He was mean but fair.
---
I went to clean his music room, something he never does anymore.
Inside, there are instruments of all kinds. What caught my eye the most was his large piano. Yes, he knew how to play piano. But it was more intermediate types of songs, not necessarily advanced. Ever since he met the man who took care of his young brother Veneziano, he never really played piano so much. I think it's because the man played much, much better than he did, and naturally he got a little jealous.
Thus why he never really tried anymore. He threw away his hope for the piano, and therefore the lid to it was closed out to the dust, his misery, and his dreams.
But he was gifted in others. His guitar was something he always tended to use back then. He was very good with it. That was also another reaosn why he never really played piano anymore; he was busy getting better and better in guitar.
He learned basic things back then when we lived with Papa Spain. When we separated from him, he taught himself. He learned quickly and became advanced in a year or two. I always loved hearing him play guitar and sing.
He also had a violin, trumpet, and cello. He could play those well, too. But, usually he got a few people to play those while he played the guitar and sang, and that's where he got one of his greatest things; a mariachi. Before the war, he tended to take me to celebrations to watch him and the rest of his mariachi to play for the people. But not anymore. He was too busy now.
As for his singing, he was pretty good. His voice was deep and clear, like most others I've heard that come from his country. He says it runs in all their blood, and I believe him.
As for me, I've never really tried to play intruments. He's tried to have me learn, but I never was too interested and I didn't really try. So he gave away that hope, too.
What I've always love to do was cook.
--- -
Walking around the kitchen, I recall how he's always tried to teach me how to cook like a Mexican.
Tamales are his favorite to make in the winter. But when I make them, they aren't firm like his. Mine are rather soggy. He gets mad when this happens, therefore I do it often. His anger at my cooking makes me giggle.
He wraps his tamales in corn husk. I wrap them in banana leaves, which are green compared to the corn husk's tanish colour.
He's also had me make gorditas. I think his are a little difficult to make, therefore I made them my way. I call mine pupusas. They are a bit similar to gorditas, only flatter and rounder.
He says I've messed up many of his traditional dishes, but I know he's joking.
---
One day he comes back in the night. I hear him stumble in, therefore I wake up.
"There are more," I whispered to him, touching the wounds on his face softly.
"Really? Maybe you're just exaggerating. I don't feel anything."
I hug him tightly and suddenly. He is badly injured but he doesn't realize it. What will happen the day he is close to death? "You have me near to death with fear. Every time you come back, you seem more injured. You're going to kill yourself, Mr. Vargas."
"Don't be silly. The French aren't that bad."
So that's who he's been fighting with all this time. I'm not surprised that he's fighting him, but I am surprised at how bad his injuries are to just be fighting.. Well, the French.
Suddenly he holds my face so he can examine it. His look is concentrated, then he says, "Color is returning to you."
It is true. My hair has gotten darker. Before it was a pale blonde, now it had a bit of a tint of brown.
He has actually expressed worry over it. I'm not too sure why, but I'm thinking it has to do with my strength. Or my eating habits. Lately they've been really bad.
"Yeah. I guess.. Now I don't feel as faint when I stand up and now I can carry heavier things than usual." I ramble a bit, trying to take away his worry. The last thing he needed was that.
"You take it easy. I've protected you to this point, I don't want to have things fall apart." The second part of what he said was rather muted. It was a bit hard to understand.
"What do you mean?"
He looked down a bit, seeming almost ashamed. "Let's just say that.. There's something more to what I'm fighting."
I still didn't under understand. I was about to speak, but he leans in so he can kiss me. Our lips touch and a shiver runs through spine. He continues with such passion and placidity that it's hard to believe this is the same man who is so aggressive and stroppy in battle and in life.
Abruptly, his hand reaches down and grasps my rear. A blush instantly runs through my face and I push- rather force- him away.
"Mr. Vargas, maybe you're tired?" I quickly ask. A sense of awkwardness rises. I wouldn't have called him Mr. Vargas after an event as stange as that.. Bluntly said, I wouldn't have even spoken to him.
He looks at me, a little surprised and disappointed. "I guess, maybe."
He looks a me for another moment, then begins to head over to his room. He pauses. "Wait, uhm, Victor."
I nod, still a little weirded out. "Yes?"
He looks at me for a long moment, and finally he says the three words I thought I'd never hear from him. "I love you."
The response was in my heart and soul but I couldn't put into words. "Mr. Vargas..."
He gave a crooked smile. "Goodnight, Victor."
"G-Goodnight, Fernando.." -
REVIVE, BITOCHES. xD
---
In the morning when I woke up, he was not there.
"Mr. Vargas? Mr. Vargas..." I called out, walking throughout the whole house in an attempt to find him. His bed was not tended to, and it seemed as though he had been in a rush.
Perhaps he had something very urgent to tend to. But it was strange that he didn't tell me anything.
Maybe he would be back soon.
For much of the day, I waited for him. I stood by the window, and when I couldn't stand it anymore, I went to his music room. I felt much better in there, but then the temptation to play something struck me.
I didn't have the key to the piano, but a knife would do. The lock wasn't very good, therefore a knife was easily able to open the lock.
When it did open, I struck a few sour notes. Upset by my lack of knowledge, my hands pushed down on the keys, causing a dissonance so horrible that I covered my ears afterward. If Mr. Vargas hadn't given up so easily.. He could have taught me at least how to read notes. And the name of the notes, too, while he was at it.
Finally when I felt I might kill myself from the boredom, I went to his chest where he kept a lot of his files. There were so many old pictures in there that I began to fear that they might bring up those memories. I couldn't help myself, though, so I looked through the photos. Most of them were of Mr. Vargas and Papa Spain, the Brazilian boy from a long time ago, me, Ms. Vasquez, Mr. Gomez, and my sister.
Then I noticed that at the very bottom of the stack of pictures, there were some of him and of another man, but the face was unidentifiable. He had cut off the face.
I wouldn't understand why he would do that, and I wouldn't know who the young man was. But something must have happened that caused bitterness, more than Papa Spain did.
Looking further into the box, I found music sheets. The transcripts of his anthem were there, done in notes so it could be played on piano. I also found some incomplete sheets for a song called "Cielito Lindo". I could tell they were incomplete because the song didn't seem long enough. And on the bottom it read "Completa otro dia", which he obviously didn't do.
I seriously began to wonder, then, why he had given up on the piano. Obviously he had some talent, but.. I guess he was just too negative about himself and his playing. As usual. He never really had anything nice to say about himself. He was really so.. strange. But everyone had that weird thing about them.
Suddenly, before I could continue, I heard the door being forcefully opened. At first I thought it was Mr. Vargas, but I realized that he had the key, so doing that wouldn't be necessary. I panicked and curled up into a little ball into the very corner of the room. Footsteps got closer to the room.
The door opened.
I braced myself for an attack, something that would kill me, but instead, it did not come. My eyes had been closed this time, so when I opened them it was a shock to see my sister standing there, wearing male uniform instead of her regular dress.
"Little brother.." she whispered. Her violet eyes were wide with both satisfaction and surprise in finding me.
"Vicky.." I answered back softly.
I knew, then, that I was going to be both bailed out of here, and saved from my misery.
But even as we left, I couldn't help but worry about Mr. Vargas. -
Youre an ass.
Several years passed after my sister helped me escape from Mr. Vargass home. Though it ended well for me in some ways, in others it did not. Mr. Vargas ended up getting angry at me.
Why did you leave? You could have gotten killed, boy! Dont you have a brain? Did it not tell you of all the obvious dangers? Really, a true ass!
Im sorry. Im sorry. I was crying at this point. I was ashamed at myself. I should not have followed my sister, and doing so only made me stupid. Of course I trusted her, but.. I shouldnt have taken that great risk.
I was worried when I came home to not see you.. he said softly. His anger faded and it was replaced with tears. When was the last time I saw him cry like that? He threatened to kill you, so much. I thought he wasnt capable, but.. He was always dead serious. He only cried harder. I worried about you so much, and to see you not here.. It was the biggest fright Ive ever had.
I didnt know how I was supposed to calm him, so I just whispered, Im okay now, Mr. Vargas.
Stop it with that name. I hate it. I hate it so much. His body shivered, almost as though it were from tense cold. I felt like I treated you like a pet. Salvador, please stop calling me that name.
I nodded, surprised. My crying had ceased from the shock. Suddenly he cared about me? Why? Then, what should I call you?
He shook his head and sniffled a lot. I dont care, just not that name. And please.. Still let me know that you love me.
So that was it? Had he forgotten so soon? I love you.. Fern. You mean a lot to me. I frowned. I fear that youve hit your head. You forgot about how much I care about you.
Youre the one that left me, he snapped. I thought you forgot about me.
Well, I didnt. And I wont.
His cold, grey eyes softened. Salvador?
What happens?
He smiled a bit. Youre still an ass.
----
Yey, finished! xD -
What the hell? Now I need to redo it..
-
"You're an ass."
Several years passed after my sister helped me escape from Mr. Vargas's home. Though it ended well for me in some ways, in others it did not. Mr. Vargas ended up getting angry at me.
"Why did you leave? You could have gotten killed, boy! Don't you have a brain? Did it not tell you of all the obvious dangers? Really, a true ass!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I was crying at this point. I was ashamed at myself. I should not have followed my sister, and doing so only made me stupid. Of course I trusted her, but.. I shouldnt have taken that great risk.
"I was worried when I came home to not see you.." he said softly. His anger faded and it was replaced with tears. When was the last time I saw him cry like that? "He threatened to kill you, so much. I thought he wasnt capable, but.. He was always dead serious." He only cried harder. "I worried about you so much, and to see you not here.. It was the biggest fright I've ever had."
I didnt know how I was supposed to calm him, so I just whispered, "I'm okay now, Mr. Vargas."
"Stop it with that name. I hate it. I hate it so much." His body shivered, almost as though it were from tense cold. "I felt like I treated you like a pet. Salvador, please stop calling me that name. "
I nodded, surprised. My crying had ceased from the shock. Suddenly he cared about me? Why? "Then, what should I call you?"
He shook his head and sniffled a lot. "I don't care, just not that name. And please.. Still let me know that you love me."
So that was it? Had he forgotten so soon? "I love you.. Fern. You mean a lot to me." I frowned. "I fear that you've hit your head. You forgot about how much I care about you."
"You're the one that left me," he snapped. I thought you forgot about me.
"Well, I didn't. And I won't."
His cold, grey eyes softened. "Salvador?"
"What happens?"
He smiled a bit. "You're still an ass."
DAMMIT, THERE. -
:O Why have I yet to see this!
I shall read! ^^ -
Daw. tis fine. xD
HAS ONE FOR BRAZZY AND PORTS. OMG WAITS. -
A long time ago, before most of the countries in Latin America were grown up, there was a young man. The young man had a great intelligence and also a passion for reading. He was very bright and also very kind. Despite this, he was awfully lonely. His only friend was another young man who argued with him all the time over land, so technically they really shouldn't be considered friends. He was also acquainted with a pervert who also liked to argue with him, but he'd rather not get into that.
Reguardless of all his problems, Portugal remained a happy and smart man. Soon, though, his fate would change.
He was out on one of his regular nature walks one day. Usually he had one every week or so, when he found that his home was peaceful enough to take a break. It was a nice way to escape from all the troubles of his home. Also, it helped him get a bit of sun. He was a little pale.
When he was about half an hour into his walk, he heard some noises. They came from a small wooded area. Though he was scared to go see who or what was causing the noises, he knew that he needed to look either way. With a small knife at hand, he headed into the small section. The sound grew louder and it seemed to be.. crying? Maybe it was a child.
Heading forward some more, it was indeed a child. A small boy. His hair was curly and brown, and his eyes were bright green and full of tears. The white clothes in which he was dressed in were dirty. He must have panicked and fell many times.
The child noticed Portugal's presence and began to cry even more. Portugal felt terrible, so he set himself on his knees so that he could reach down and grab the young boy's shoulders. "What happens? Why are you crying?" he asked worriedly, brushing off the tears with the sleeve of his shirt.
He sniffled and looked up at Portugal with big, sad, green eyes. "I'm lost.. I'm lost.. I want my Mami and Papi.." he sobbed. He threw his arms around Portugal's shoulders. He rubbed the little's boy's back soothingly and said, "It's okay. Don't cry, they'll come for you. In the meantime, you look pitiful in those clothes. Come with me and let me at least clean you and feed you. You must be hungry."
The little boy seemed terrified, but followed Portugal anyway. "What is your name? You're so small, you must be a new country of some sort."
"Papi says we're Brasilenos.."
"Brazil would be a good name then, don't you think?" Portugal smiled. "If you don't have any other name, I will call you Brazil. You may call me Portugal."
And so began Portugal's connection with Brazil. After having fed and cleaned him, Portugal told him to go to bed and that'd he'd wake him up if his parents came. Brazil did as he was told. Throughout the night, the young man waited for the parents to come, but they never did. So Portugal made sure he didn't lose his chance.
"This.." he said that night to a soldier of his, "I want you to find Brazil's parents and kill them with this gun. It should be easy to find them, just find the cheif of the Brasileno group or something like that. I want them both dead, do you understand?"
"Sim." The soldier nodded, took the gun, and headed out.
With the parents gone, Portugal could raise him his way. One thing he wanted to make sure of was that he didn't become a country. He wasn't afraid of him or anything like that, but Portugal didn't want him to face the possible tortures of becoming a nation. He wanted Brazil to grow up to be an normal and intelligent man, not a country who had to watch his hide twenty-four seven.
In months the two came to trust each other. Portugal felt so comfortable with him that he allowed Brazil to call him Ricardo, his actual name. Brazil told him to refer to himself as Esteban.
When taking him to walk one day, Ricardo came across Spain. Spain, the one person he hated with all his soul, was busy playing with about twenty little children, all of which must have been more Latin countries, and one must have been an Italian. Knowing that Portugal was there, Antonio gave him an almost snotty smile. That was for the reason that no matter how hard Portugal tried, he would always have less friends and acquaintences than Spain.
"Ricardo, why am I the only one you take care of? Why don't you have as many kids as Mister Spain?" Esteban questioned on the way back. He had become a curious little thing, asking questions almost every hour of the day.
"Because you're the only person I need right now, Esteban. Unlike him, I only need you to make me happy," Portugal replied with such contempt that Esteban only remained staring.
Portugal was right about one thing; Brazil was really the only person he needed at the moment. One day, his glasses had fell and broke on the wooden floor. It would take several days to fix. During those days, Brazil was his eyes. He helped Portugal see what he couldn't see.
"Oh, Ricardo!" he cried out one day. "The colors of the flowers are so pretty! Every color you can imagine is on the floor. Every shade of every color, really! It's so pretty and I wish you could see it, really~." Esteban had dragged him out the house and pointed to the ground. Ricardo could only see blurs of colors because of his poor vision. Or maybe because his eyes were beginning to water. He was starting to cry because he was so happy and pleased with Brazil.
Esteban, despite being at that young age of innocence and ignorance, understood why Ricardo was crying and didn't question him. He only put his arms around Portugal's shoulders and said, "I love you, Portugal. I won't leave your side."
"Obrigado, Brasil.." he replied softly.
Really, how he loved Brazil and his innocent nature. But things were about to change. -
NOT. DYING.
---
When Esteban grew older, he found out the cold, hard truth about Spain and Portugal -- They were brothers with no want to be close. Portugal was the older and was always bitter with Spain and never spoke to him ever and blamed everything on him. Spain was just very teasing with Portugal and didn't talk much to him either.
Perhaps Antonio did try, but it didn't work. Ricardo was just so bitter.
How this realization changed Brazil and Portugal's relationship would be obvious later.
Now with this information, Esteban tried to be with Uncle Antonio as much as possible so that he could try to get the brothers to finally get along. During the time he attempted that, he became friends with the children Antonio took care of.
His two closest friends were two boys; A blonde, rather happy both named Javier, and an older and more serious boy named Fernando. He had already knew them from the time he and Portugal were Spain's servants, but only until now did they actually talk seriously. Esteban didn't know it, but the two would become very big parts of his life. They spoke to him of becoming countries, of breaking free from Spain's grip, and from making their own lives. Brazil thought they were crazy at first, but alas soon he began to realize that it didn't sound half bad.
But one day, the visits changed. Portugal woke him up one day, screaming to him that he was not to go visit the boys, and that he was not to go visit. He told Brazil to open his books and study.
Apparently Portugal knew of the scheme Esteban was trying to put up, and he was intent on not becoming close with Spain again. "b------ of a brother, he is.." Esteban heard him mutter while he did his studies.
It remained like this for a long time. Brazil studies, confined to the house. All while he heard of news from his friends; How Mexico came to become a country and got married then got divorced. How Argentina became a country and broke up with his young love Chile, then stayed with Venezuela for a while.
"How can they make so much progress and I am to stay here without progress at all?" he grumbled one day to himself. He knew he needed to do something to finally be free like the other two, but he did not know what.
Something daring.
Something extreme.
Something to bring Portugal over the edge.
He thought many months on this matter, wondering how the hell he was going to get Portugal mad, when he was already that. One day he was given an answer so good he couldn't ignore it.
He ran away.
--
**The thing that Portugal and Spain being considered siblings come from the fact that they're both part of the Iberian region, also the countries appeared rather close in early years. That's why the thing of "Iberiancest" is out there. -
I couldn't help keeping the other one on hold, the one about Este and Ricky :| It's just that, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" by Miku gives me too much thought about Salvador and Mexico.
Once again, told in the view of El Salvador. The view of a sadist would be way too much. I mean, I would do it, but it wouldn't be as interesting.
---
I wake up, my body in a cold sweat. The pain in my body is apparent.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry. All I could have said last night to stop him. I've been a bad servant. I do not want punishment... But I know you will give it to me no matter what. That's what always runs through my mind
I turn over and see it's getting late. If I don't hurry up and clean myself up, I'll only be an easy and appealing target. I can't take the thought of that. My body was still aching from yesterday's three rounds. I wouldn't be able to take another round without crying, which was something I was trying not to do yesterday during the time I was "f---ed", as I was ordered to say.
When I get up, my entire body in extreme pain, I pray for the familiar feeling to not come. But it does. I shudder as I feel liquid ooze from inbetween my legs. What makes it worse is the fact that it spills on the floor.
To add to my humiliation, the door opens. I am greeted by the dark aura that fills the room, and the mocking laughter. "Cleaning up?"
I shudder. It's him. I don't answer him out of complete fear.
He unexpectedly swats my bare bottom roughly. I wince and feel even more liquid escape. "I'm feeling nice today. Go ahead and take a shower. But if you fail to follow the rest of my tasks, it will be more than this tonight." He almost shoves me forward. "I left you clothes inside the bathroom."
My clothes are similar to his, only smaller and without the pants. Just a long shirt-like coat that reaches just above my knees. It's coloured black and has gold trimming and buttons on it.
I nodded and hurried into the bathroom. In there, I rush to get clean. At any minute he can decide to cut off the water so that I won't have a chance to clean.
I wash through my messy blonde hair and the rest of my body. While cleaning my face, I feel something I've never felt before; A thin beard. Like the one he has. It brings me utter disgust, but I know I can't do anything about it. I would have to share some resemblance to him from now on.
A thought runs through my mind, and it gives me the urge to throw up. But I know I must do it. I have to clean the mess he made in me. If I don't do it, there was no point in me taking a shower.
I wince, my fingers now deep inside of myself. It aches so badly that my stomach churns. But I have to do it.
I pull them out, and a heap of white liquid comes out with my fingers. Come. So f---ing disgusting.
This continues, and by the time I finish I am in tears. Tears of both pain and humiliation. How could he deal with himself after he does this? Only a monster could live with himself.
He is a monster, I think to myself. A monster made into a country.
He's of course, our wonderful Mexico; the deadliest of the Latin countries. How I was so unfortunate to have to live so close to him, I don't know. I'm not his neighbor, but I'm close enough.
He picks on me all the time. Not, 'picks' isn't the right word. He harrasses me. No, not even 'harrass' is enough to describe how he treats me. He violates me. Everyday he makes me his little slave, making me clean all day. Sometimes, if he's in a really good mood, he sends me off to clean the houses of other people. Usually when he sends me off to do that, he makes me go to Argentina's house, if he's in a good enough mood.
Argentina humiliates me further. He sets me to clean the outside of his house, then he invites Brazil, Peru, Paraguay, and Colombia to laugh at me because the clothes I were barely- or don't - cover me up. I just try to get everything done as fast as possible, but nothing can stop my tears.
"Hey, El Salvador!" one of them cried. It was Colombia, who was laughing his guts out. "Maybe you should come to clean my house one day, but leave your jacket behind!"
The laughter was loud. It was enough to block out my whimpers and cries.
On other days, when he's in a super good mood, Mexico sends me to Venezuela's house. He thinks I fear her the most, but I don't. I only put up the act so that he'll send me with her. In reality, I love my big sister with all my heart. She's the one thing I live for.
"Salvador," she tells me in her soft, soothing voice. She never calls me "El Salvador." She prefers my real name or just a short alternative to my country's name. "Did he do it to you again?"
All the Latin countries call her "Sister". She's always protective like that. I carry pride to know that I'm the only one who can call her big sister, and know that she's related to me by blood.
I nod at her question. My head is on her chest, and her heartbeat and the way her chest rises when she breathes relaxes me.
"Don't worry. One day I'll get you out of there."
When my sister says she will do something, she will most likely do it. She isn't like most of the other girl countries I know. She's frightening enough to make Brazil obey her, and he's very stubborn. There's something different about big sister, but I don't know what it is.
I know, though, that I value her so much because there have been times where she was on the edge of death in one of her many wars and protests. But never has she failed to stay for me.
I still remember, before I was forced to live with Mexico, she promised to take me home again. She promised to bail me out.
But despite all the trust I've had in her, I lost hope. I don't think she can take me out of here. -
This day is like any other day. Except he seems worried.
I don't ask what is wrong. He might slap me. He might humiliate me.
Suddenly he glares right at me. "Tomorrow I am leaving for something. Linda is going to take care of you."
I try to keep my fear in. Linda. I haven't seen her since her disasterous divorce with Fernando. God knows how she is. Even when she was happy with him, she was always so mean to me.
He smiled, sensing my fear. "I've already given her a list of tasks for you. If you do not finish them and I don't notice, she will beat you. If I do notice, we will both beat you." He thinks for a moment. "Also, you are to come to my room at night."
My eyes go wide. "No, please!"
"I didn't ask for your opinion!" he hollered, slapping me hard. I heard a crunching sound, and warm liquid oozes from my nose. I try to keep my pained whimpers quiet.
"You're such a b----, aren't you? You should be greatful that I'm not taking you with me. You'd scar little Texas for life with that ugly face of yours," he laughed. The way his gray eyes sparked as he insulted me told me how much he enjoyed every second of my misery. "America would ask why I brought a monkey along with me."
I am not ugly.. Am I? I think miserably to myself. Venezuela has never called me ugly, and she cares a lot about looks.
"Well, stop standing there!" he hollers, hitting me again. My head throbs. "If Guatemala is coming, you'd better clean. I want to see the whole house clean! I will be making dinner, so don't think I don't have a consequence for you not cleaning."
The kitchen. The horrible memories come back. The kitchen is where he does his worst games. Once he put my hand against the fire of his stove, and I couldn't grab things for weeks. Another time, he forced me to eat soap. For hours, I would be bent over in pain, vomiting or with dirrahea. The most frightening of things he's done is put ammonia into my mouth. He forced me to swallow, and a huge bubble of hair formed in my throat. I choked, almost to death, in extreme agony. I would have died if he hadn't slapped my back so hard that I burped.
The worst he could do, though, is starve me. He's done so many times- once he did it for six consecutive days. On those days, I'd be reduced to eat from the trashcan. Though that stopped working too-- he began cleaning out the trashcans.
To relive this horror would have been miserable. And I was willing to take a chance with Guatemala to see if she would feed me.
But I am not willing to go to his bedroom at night.
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