Author's Note: I really shouldn't be starting something new... Blegh, whatever.

This will be written in a kind of stream of consciousness-like way, so basically, don't expect any type of organization besides basic formatting.

A warning: I don't know if this is going to offend any Canadians, but... I think it's better to warn you now that you might be offended. I don't really know, though... Same goes for all the rest of the chapters, actually. I do not mean to insult any country's traditions or culture, I'm just trying to write something depressing.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I have no claim to ownership of Hetalia: Axis Powers. It belongs to Himaruya-sama, who has my eternal admiration. :)

Lest We Forget...

At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month...

Canada still remembered the needless bloodshed on that day, before the hour came. He remembered the bloodshed of every day, in that war, and the wars before, and the wars after. He felt every death, every life being snuffed, every pained cry...

Remembrance Day.

That's what his people called it. That's what they called the day when they gathered to honor the dead and the gone, and to try to remember the mistakes, the hurt, the sorrow, of the past.

They never could, not really.

Not what he could remember.

Canada preferred to spend Remembrance Day alone.

Of course, every year, without fail, he would be asked to go. Every year, his people would look to him hopefully, wondering if that year was the year the nation of Canada would finally break in tradition, and attend the ceremonies that were held in honor of those he could remember, and the rest could not.

But that was precisely why every year, without fail, he declined.

Every year, he would hear the sound of the bells tolling, of his anthem, of the strains of music floating on the breeze. Every year, he could feel the solemnity gathering around that one point, and then...

Silence.

That wonderful silence in which he can finally just be himself, where he can finally just close his eyes and be at peace.

It was the best and worst time of every year.

The absolute silence reverberated through the open space, filling him to the brim and threatening to make him burst. He let his mind go blank, let the silence envelope him completely, let it embrace him and cradle him and smother him...

He let the silence, the silence that was to be for remembering, help him forget.

For, even if it was only a short time, Canada craved the emptiness that forgetting could bring.

Then, there was noise again. The world came rushing back, as strains of slow, sad music and loud but solemn words and sound once again filled the air, as people picked up their wreaths and walked forward to place them down, reverently, in their appropriate positions.

At the end of the official ceremony, his people streamed toward the place where all could pay their respects, where flowers soon covered the ground like snow.

And then, finally, it was over, and Canada emerged from the shadows where he had been a spectator the whole day, where he had always been, every year, on that day.

He walked forward, placing a gentle hand on the memorial, just thinking.

Then he reached into his pocket, bringing out a flower of pure, bright red, with a center of dark, and just held it for a moment, closing his eyes as the sun set and the moon rose and the millions of twinkling stars finally decided to emerge from their day of rest.

The next morning, he would have to return to the hectic life of being a nation. Having to deal with the constant stress of the world conferences, of meetings, of politics, and economics, and international tensions, of being forgotten once again...

He was always forgotten, it seemed, always going unnoticed by other nations, or mistaken.

Funny how a day dedicated to remembering was Canada's only chance to forget himself.

When morning came, all that was left was a single unblemished petal among a sea of red.

Author's Note: Woop. Depressing stuff is depressing.

So, for people who don't know (*cough*Americanslikemyself*cough*), the flowers are red poppies, which are symbolic apparently because of the song "In Flanders Fields" and their color, which is like blood. I say apparently, because Wikipedia is sometimes not trustworthy, and I'm too lazy to look for another source.

Did you know that apparently Veteran's Day is on the same day as Remembrance Day, but Memorial Day is closer in meaning? I did not know that... Then again, I had no idea what day any of the above mentioned holidays were on until I researched it, so meh.

So, I have about, uh... 12(?) chapters of this planned out, but since school is freakishly busy this year, and I'm writing other stories as well... This won't be updated very regularly.

Hope you liked it!