Wall
Title: Wall
Author/Artist: getawaycar_x
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Just Prussia, but Germany is mentioned.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gilbert's potty mouth makes a quick appearance. Also, sensitive subjects perhaps?
Summary: Gilbert muses on several things as he watches the army begin constructing the wall between east and west Berlin. That's all there is to it, really.
On the 13th of August they start rolling out the barbed wire. It starts just after midnight, and East Germany is already there to watch, standing to the side with his hands in the pockets of a coat that is far too heavy for the season. He’s cold despite it. The political climate of recent times, the decisions that have been made lately, and most of all the lies to his own people -Niemand hat die Absicht, eine Mauer zu errichten, nobody has the intention of erecting a wall- have left him chilled to the bone. Never mind the bothersome cold that the economy has lodged in him, courtesy of Ivan, because this brand new type of chill runs deeper than that. It has a vice grip on his soul, and for the first time in his history Gilbert thinks he’s experiencing something like resignation, something like apathy.
A tangle of barbed wire is pulled out across his line of sight. They work so fast. Orders are called out, but there is no excess talk. The soldiers and policemen brush past him, close by. But nobody would have the thought to ask of East Germany that he steps to the side, and he makes no move to get out of their way himself. So they split around him like he’s Moses parting the sea. He looks down at his feet as he stands there, feeling as though he’ll lose himself if he backs down even one inch. Like this standing he has is something he must protect, like it’s all he has to protect anymore. So he stands his ground.
Then he looks up instead, at the line that the barbed wire creates, the more distinct border, and he feels that line clearer than ever in his heart.
Faintly, he wonders if West feels it too. His brother is nowhere to be seen.
He covers a sudden cough with his arm. The sore throat doesn’t even bother him anymore. He’s so used to it that it’s become like breathing to him. This cold has been his company since the war ended. As have the bruises.
Though no new ones have blossomed for some time, the ones that already graze his skin haven’t even begun to fade. Whenever he checks himself in the mirror, he thinks they look like ink spots against the almost-white; a document to his state of submission. It makes him feel disgustingly branded. While West Germany was allowed by its occupants to recuperate to the best of its ability, the East had been refused reconstruction by their Soviet rulers; Ivan wants to keep him weak, or so the man had told him himself as he shipped off everything of worth that wasn’t chained to the ground.
The army works through the night, along with the police, and he stands watching them. There seems to be no end to the truckloads of wire that are unloaded, and yet this is just a make-do until they have the wall in place. When it is, when the border patrol is there to keep his people in place, shut inside and locked out, there will be no turning back. It will forever be a part of the history of the German people.
Speaking of history and parts of it that will forever stay with him… No, on second thought he’s not ready to go there yet. Won’t be for a long, long time.
He wishes he had West to talk to about it, but even if he did he’s not sure he would be up for tearing at fresh wounds like that. If his run deep, West’s must form canyons across his soul. A barren, un-thread wasteland, and he’s sure that’s how his brother would prefer to keep it.
Gilbert can deal with the loneliness, but not the isolation. He won’t be leaving here for some time, and the feeling of being trapped within himself makes his skin crawl. Doesn’t matter what an awesome place he is.
By dawn he has grown tired of standing. The border’s not going anywhere, and he can’t see any harm in finding a place to sit. He sinks down against the wall of the nearest building. Stretches one leg out. Unearths a pack of smokes from the inner pocket of his coat (He knew he’d left that somewhere).
In the end he just ends up fiddling with the lighter, cigarette between his lips, unlit. He flicks the lid off…on…off. The soldiers start to wrap things up. What’s left is a job for certified construction workers. Gilbert’s not sure how he’s going to be able to watch that.
There's nothing left to see, at least for the moment. Gilbert pushes himself up to his feet by bracing against the wall, takes one last look at the barbed wire, and begins the walk back to his apartment. Even though the cigarette never got lit he flicks it onto the ground and halts to grind it into the pavement. Mostly because he thinks the gesture looks cool.
He doesn’t get why West never bothered to show up.
Fuck him, really.
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A/N;
I would make some historical notes here, but there are sites that tell it so much better than I ever could. If you’re interested in reading about the Berlin wall I recommend searching for those. It’s really interesting reading.
This might have a sequel, since what I started out wanting to write never even got mentioned in the end. I’ll be secretive for now and not say what that is X) but I can tell you it has to do with a famous photo taken during the construction of the wall. I read the story behind it and felt that I wanted to write something about it.
I probably fail at historical accuracy in this, but please view it as the piece of fiction that it is, and hopefully I haven’t stepped on any toes.
Constructive criticism? Just feel like ranting at me? You’re welcome to rant and rave about anything as long as you’re polite about it =) I appreciate all comments, both the short ones and the long ones.