Eighth Spark! [Dream]
It starts with a scream. Not a normal scream, of course. It’s the scream of a nation, billions of voices crying out in horror and it’s not clear how it sounds, just how it feels. The screen is locked in a freefall of fire and explosions, slowly fading into rain.
It crashes down around two figures, standing in the mud and the dark with bayonets pointed at each other’s throats. One of them is America. One of them is England. It’s, again, not clear how this is: it just is, and one of them is crying as England collapses, unable to shoot. Maybe both are crying. Maybe it’s the armies behind them, whose lives are pulsing in your veins.
You have to push those buttons. Torture sounds, screaming again, it’s imperative that those buttons are pressed or you’re going to get attacked again, everyone else-- they’ll die for you, all over again, boys and men and women with holes in their bodies and their country on their minds.
“Stay away from my family,” someone whispers, and then Canada’s face is clear, he’s been there all along, watching, dismissive and cruel and cold. “Don’t touch me, America.”
He’s going to burn the Capitol, because you had to attack through the forest, and suddenly there’s the sounds of rifles and screaming, it’s a war, you know this. An invasion, and somewhere nearby your brother falls to the ground screaming because you almost stabbed him in the heart.
But you and England have taken your part of Canada.
People are still dying for you. You feel the wounds bleeding through you like they’re your own, and somewhere England is still crying in the rain, because you stabbed him too, didn’t you?
It crashes down around two figures, standing in the mud and the dark with bayonets pointed at each other’s throats. One of them is America. One of them is England. It’s, again, not clear how this is: it just is, and one of them is crying as England collapses, unable to shoot. Maybe both are crying. Maybe it’s the armies behind them, whose lives are pulsing in your veins.
You have to push those buttons. Torture sounds, screaming again, it’s imperative that those buttons are pressed or you’re going to get attacked again, everyone else-- they’ll die for you, all over again, boys and men and women with holes in their bodies and their country on their minds.
“Stay away from my family,” someone whispers, and then Canada’s face is clear, he’s been there all along, watching, dismissive and cruel and cold. “Don’t touch me, America.”
He’s going to burn the Capitol, because you had to attack through the forest, and suddenly there’s the sounds of rifles and screaming, it’s a war, you know this. An invasion, and somewhere nearby your brother falls to the ground screaming because you almost stabbed him in the heart.
But you and England have taken your part of Canada.
People are still dying for you. You feel the wounds bleeding through you like they’re your own, and somewhere England is still crying in the rain, because you stabbed him too, didn’t you?