a world in white gets under way [3/5?]
anonymous
January 12 2010, 09:39:00 UTC
March 11, 1991: Soviet OMON forces attack Lithuanian border posts
"I can talk to who I like," Lithuania told him. "You know, Belarus isn't yours either."
"Nobody thinks you're a nation, yes?" the Soviet Union answered. "You are one with me, yes?"
And Lithuania laughed. Just a little laugh, but it was enough. "Iceland does. That's a start."
He can hear the chorus in his head, the singing, always the singing, rigning, echoing across his skull. Vodka no longer drowns it. Party chants no longer take over its rhythym. He misses his Soviet Socialist Republics, his precious wayward republics, and his body aches with the need to have them back. They had no right. They were his, all his, they were part of him just as Belarus was and they had no right. Children need to learn. They have to learn to live together.
He doesn't feel bad about it, really. It's a lesson. A slap on a wrist. And it wasn't as if the border guards carried weapons. Easy, too easy and Russia breathes in deep the predawn dew and the stench of blood, and tells himself that it doesn't bother him, not at all.
He lifts the Makarov to his lips. It's still hot. Lithuania used to kiss him with cold lips, or maybe that was his own lips. The Soviet Union was never quite sure. He puts the gun away and adjusts his scarf to hide his lips; they're red and swollen and absurd.
"I can talk to who I like," Lithuania told him. "You know, Belarus isn't yours either."
"Nobody thinks you're a nation, yes?" the Soviet Union answered. "You are one with me, yes?"
And Lithuania laughed. Just a little laugh, but it was enough. "Iceland does. That's a start."
He can hear the chorus in his head, the singing, always the singing, rigning, echoing across his skull. Vodka no longer drowns it. Party chants no longer take over its rhythym. He misses his Soviet Socialist Republics, his precious wayward republics, and his body aches with the need to have them back. They had no right. They were his, all his, they were part of him just as Belarus was and they had no right. Children need to learn. They have to learn to live together.
He doesn't feel bad about it, really. It's a lesson. A slap on a wrist. And it wasn't as if the border guards carried weapons. Easy, too easy and Russia breathes in deep the predawn dew and the stench of blood, and tells himself that it doesn't bother him, not at all.
He lifts the Makarov to his lips. It's still hot. Lithuania used to kiss him with cold lips, or maybe that was his own lips. The Soviet Union was never quite sure. He puts the gun away and adjusts his scarf to hide his lips; they're red and swollen and absurd.
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I want more, more, more~!!
X3
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