A lone man stood outside. The rain poured down, soaking the man's long, blond hair, and for once, he didn't whine. He couldn't. Some of his drenched hair hung in a thin white ribbon, many peices out, escaped from the look he had completed nearly two days before. The long, normally silky locks clug to his neck and face, water running down them and onto his chest, not making much of a difference, as the rain had already soaked through his black suit and white shirt. Carrion birds screeched above him, flying in endless circles. He paid them no mind, only stared ahead and down slightly. He smiled softly, for in his mind's eye he was reminscing all the time passed. Every fight, every moment. How he thought he hated him. His smile faded, replaced only with a look of great longing and sadness. The time they had wasted fighting, avoiding each other. He spared a glance at the bouquet of white roses, from his own garden. How silly they seemed now. He did not cry, only stood there with his aching heart, a deep, massive pain deep within his chest and gut.
"Goodbye, Angleterre." He took a deep shuddering breath. "Goodbye"
He placed the roses on the chest of his fallen comrade, then walked away in silence without a last glance.
"Goodbye"
