With the Seas ~ A Hetalia Fan Fiction

Chapter 1 ~ Thief

 Bright green eyes peer down into my cerulean ones. Those eyes look so cold. They pierce right through me, sharp as a steel blade.

 “So, what’s your name, girl?” he asks in a harsh voice.

 He truly is intimidating, this man, but I continue to gaze straight into his eyes. Thankfully, my voice is calm when I answer.

 “I don’t have a name.”

 ***Two days earlier***

 It is a fairly sunny morning, strangely enough. After weeks of heavy downpours, people had begun to think that it would never be sunny again. Unlike everyone else here at Port Dominica, I welcome several straight weeks of gloomy weather. Actually, a beautiful day after weeks of depressing rain is a perfect time for me, considering how I “make a living.” Most of the town’s citizens would be out and about after being cooped up inside for so long.

 From my hiding place in an alleyway, I inconspicuously walk out into the light. Leaning casually against the front of a nearby shop, I observe the people who walk past me.

 Ah, they look promising.

 A middle-aged couple had stopped by the side of the road and began to argue over something. From where I stand, their quarrel seems quite heated. The only thing I really care about, though, is the silk purse at the woman’s hip.

 As I walk nearer to them, I hear a bit of their conversation.

 “For God’s sake, Charles, you’ll drink us dry with how often you go to the pub!”

 “Bonnie, we will be fine! How many times have I told you? With all the stress put on me at work, I need something to relieve it all.”

 “And how many times have I told y–”

 She stumbles backward slightly at the collision.

 “Oh, I’m so sorry, miss. Please excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” I apologize with a seemingly frantic look on my face.

 “That’s quite all right,” the woman called Bonnie says shortly before turning to her husband once again.

 “And how many times have I told you, Charles…”

 I run a good distance before stopping to catch my breath and to examine the contents of the little purse. After counting the money, I smile excitedly. There is enough to pay for meals and lodgings for at least eight days. My stomach growls suddenly, and I know it is time for lunch.

 ***

 As I sit alone in the corner of the tavern finishing up my beef stew, I try once again to remember. My eyes close. In my mind, I see us, so happy together: my mother, my father, and a younger version of myself. I can hear them as well – my mother’s lilting laugh and my father’s gentle voice. I strain to imagine them calling me, calling my name. In the end, no matter how vivid my imagination, I can’t remember it. My name.

 My name isn’t the only thing I can’t remember. For some reason, I can’t recall what happened to my parents or my home. I don’t even know how I ended up in this town. One day, when I was maybe eleven or twelve years old, I woke up in a dark alley with a small amount of money in my pocket and the clothes on my back. I can still remember parts of my childhood and my parents’ faces, but nothing else.

 For seven years, I tried to remember what happened, but to no avail. No one in Port Dominica seems to know me or my parents when I describe their appearances, so I can safely assume my home is elsewhere. However, I haven’t been able to leave this town even once in seven years. Since only small cargo and fishing boats come to port here, I can’t sneak onto a boat without being noticed. I’ve tried several times before, but I was caught each time. It’s been the most frustrating part of my life, besides my lost memories.

 How the hell am I supposed to find clues to my past if I’m stuck in this bloody town?

 At least, though, I can live here comfortably. I really do have a talent for thieving. It just comes naturally. It may be wrong, but I refuse to die of starvation, of all things, without gaining any information on my past.

 With a sigh of defeat, I drink the last of my ale and go up to my room.