The Dream (GerIta)

III

He sat up in his bed to the sound of birdsong. The sun was shining through the open window, and the dust floating through the beams twinkled like a thousand tiny diamonds suspended in midair. He slid out of bed and put on his usual black cloak. As he settled his four-point hat on his head, he glanced over and saw the broom. He thought of Italy, of how lonely she will be. He was doing this to protect her, though.
There was a knock on the door and he reached up and opened it. Francis was standing in the doorway with a solemn look on his face. "Your meal is ready, sir." He grabbed the push-broom and followed France into a dining room.
On the table was a bowl of penne alla pesto with a glass of Italian white wine, just as he had requested. This was his favorite thing that Italy cooked. It wasn't as good, but it was good enough. He thought of Italy, of how much he would miss her cooking. He wiped his mouth on the napkin provided, and nodded to France. "C'est l'heure."

France led him outside to a courtyard. In the center was guillotine's blade shining in the morning sun. Without struggling, he allowed himself to be locked in the stocks in the bottom. He looked France in the eye and felt a single tear escape, rolling down his cheek. He saw a similar tear leak from France's eye. "Mi dispiace, Italia," he said as he rested his head upon the wooden block. He closed his eyes, felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, and could not longer feel the sun's warmth on his eyelids.
He opened his eyes. He was in a room filled with people, and standing in front of him was a man with platinum blonde hair and deep red eyes. There was something brotherly about him; maybe it was the way he smiled down at him, maybe it was how he suddenly yelled, "So proud!" He explained how everyone in the room thought that rather than being separate countries in a confederation, it would be better if they were unified into one country.
But despite having apparently just been born, he had memories of a time long gone. But as he thought about the past, it seemed to blow away like autumn leaves in a breeze. He couldn't hold onto all of them, so he caught a little image just before it escaped and held it in his mind. He remembered it was from both the happiest and saddest day of his old life.
It was Italy, wearing a little maid dress, holding a push-broom.