part 10 ; Sing Sung Songs [23/?]
anonymous
March 27 2011, 18:54:59 UTC
After France had left America and England.
France had returned home to argue with a suspecting Canada.
While Canada admired that France thought something could be done, Canada couldn’t help but think. Think damage done, is damage done. You can’t repair, you can only control. That is what he’d been doing all these years, silent by England’s side watching dutifully his ups and downs. His murmurs and whispers; the greedy aspirations of 1812, the cold indifference (are you moving on?) up until the second world war where England could bear it no longer- the refusal to see America’s face.
How glorious, how satisfying it must have felt to play his favourite card, helplessness with sincerity and truth backing it. During WWII, even if at first begrudgingly American aid came, later on it was given whole heartedly. How nice for England, how nice it must have been in that small manner to hold what he thought could be part of America’s heart once more. The briefest of sympathies, affections. Even if it were just America’s pride, his developing hero-complex, his selfishness for self indulgence, his wallet-
Canada thought, yes England. That is enough.
That should satisfy you.
The hand which raises you is a future visage of your own.
It may not be exactly the same but a movement, knowledge that is taught will never be entirely yours.
Come the Cold War, America was being drawn to strengthen that “special” bond with England he’d acquired through their alliance in the Second World War.
It strengthened and weakened, it was bound.
It broke.
Nobody was sure of it.
Only England had been sure of one thing.
This was not what he’d expected, not how he wanted it, and there did not seem a way at all for America to love him as he once did. This relationship was as it was, political, for the world, for their people, for their benefit as countries. Sometimes benefit was reaped and sometimes together it seemed they’d crash and burn. Only two entities, England longed for his status as an Empire only in these moments as he saw America rise up-
How.
How they’d come to this conclusion Canada does not know.
But France had angrily stormed out of the meeting and holed himself up in his room ever since when hand in hand, America rushing up, in long strong strides to the front of the table, a lecturing Germany surprised enough to cease speaking (yelling more like) and back down-
Too earnestly had America approached, his own brand basked in a different oil than what had been natural before appeared the opposite now. Had with too much energy announced for attention with body than any verbal communication- before England’s grip had tightened over his fingers and so in turn America had slowed, his body turning a little to England’s, as the older nation cleared his throat at the end of the table before them all, in that false manner- into his fist. America smiled radiantly. Canada remembers how his knees had felt as his hands clutched onto them not knowing what would come next, only it’d be something he’d not want to hear.
France had returned home to argue with a suspecting Canada.
While Canada admired that France thought something could be done, Canada couldn’t help but think. Think damage done, is damage done. You can’t repair, you can only control. That is what he’d been doing all these years, silent by England’s side watching dutifully his ups and downs. His murmurs and whispers; the greedy aspirations of 1812, the cold indifference (are you moving on?) up until the second world war where England could bear it no longer- the refusal to see America’s face.
How glorious, how satisfying it must have felt to play his favourite card, helplessness with sincerity and truth backing it. During WWII, even if at first begrudgingly American aid came, later on it was given whole heartedly.
How nice for England, how nice it must have been in that small manner to hold what he thought could be part of America’s heart once more. The briefest of sympathies, affections. Even if it were just America’s pride, his developing hero-complex, his selfishness for self indulgence, his wallet-
Canada thought, yes England. That is enough.
That should satisfy you.
The hand which raises you is a future visage of your own.
It may not be exactly the same but a movement, knowledge that is taught will never be entirely yours.
Come the Cold War, America was being drawn to strengthen that “special” bond with England he’d acquired through their alliance in the Second World War.
It strengthened and weakened, it was bound.
It broke.
Nobody was sure of it.
Only England had been sure of one thing.
This was not what he’d expected, not how he wanted it, and there did not seem a way at all for America to love him as he once did. This relationship was as it was, political, for the world, for their people, for their benefit as countries. Sometimes benefit was reaped and sometimes together it seemed they’d crash and burn. Only two entities, England longed for his status as an Empire only in these moments as he saw America rise up-
How.
How they’d come to this conclusion Canada does not know.
But France had angrily stormed out of the meeting and holed himself up in his room ever since when hand in hand, America rushing up, in long strong strides to the front of the table, a lecturing Germany surprised enough to cease speaking (yelling more like) and back down-
Too earnestly had America approached, his own brand basked in a different oil than what had been natural before appeared the opposite now. Had with too much energy announced for attention with body than any verbal communication- before England’s grip had tightened over his fingers and so in turn America had slowed, his body turning a little to England’s, as the older nation cleared his throat at the end of the table before them all, in that false manner- into his fist. America smiled radiantly. Canada remembers how his knees had felt as his hands clutched onto them not knowing what would come next, only it’d be something he’d not want to hear.
Perhaps what no one wanted to hear, or expect.
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