Decked in Black (1/1)
anonymous
May 15 2010, 22:10:21 UTC
Several days after 9/11, America walks into the hastily-called world meeting with determination and hints of anguish written on his face. The other countries are already there. He slams his palms on the table, looks every country in the eye, and announces, “From now on, every eleventh of September is Universal Mourning Day.”
There is silence in the room. Alfred grows uncomfortable as all the nations stare at him, disbelief and shock and remorse and pain flashing across their faces. He tries to catch their gazes, and while several do not hide, many turn away.
France is the first to speak. “Alfred, je suis désolé… you have my sympathy, you really do. But I cannot be here.” He pushes his chair back, stands up, and leaves without another word. One by one, the other nations follow, muttering their condolences and apologies until there is only England left, staring at the table.
None of the nations offer support for the idea.
---
Francis takes a deep swig from his bottle of wine, running a weary hand through his hair. He stares blankly at the TV screen, but the flickering images can’t rid him of his memories. He brings the bottle to his lips once more.
---
The silence seems to drown Alfred, smothering him like the smoke of fire and death. He falls to his knees, trying to stifle the urge to cough. He manages to croak out a quiet, forlorn, “Why?”
---
Ludwig lies silently in his bed, staring up at the dark shapes hovering over him, dancing on the ceiling. The shadows remind him of death. He closes his eyes, but the shadows remain.
---
England finally moves, rising from his chair and making his way to his child - an adult, but not nearly grown-up. He wraps his arms around him, gently rocking Alfred back and forth, humming soothing notes from a made-up song. “My son, my son…. You’ve never liked your history, have you, child?”
---
All of Asia settles around a table, a circle of solemn and exhausted faces. “How is your brother?” “How is your back?”
---
America’s strength drains from his body, and Alfred’s form begins to convulse with coughs and silent tears.
---
He was drowning… drowning… drowning… drowning in a pit of darkness. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t see. Where was everybody? There were only two sides in this war, and if they weren’t with him…
Re: Decked in Black (1/1)
anonymous
May 16 2010, 06:01:28 UTC
Wait... what? What's the meaning of this? One of one- you can't say its part one of one when you've ended it like that! If anything, its a great start to a larger story. More please!
There is silence in the room. Alfred grows uncomfortable as all the nations stare at him, disbelief and shock and remorse and pain flashing across their faces. He tries to catch their gazes, and while several do not hide, many turn away.
France is the first to speak. “Alfred, je suis désolé… you have my sympathy, you really do. But I cannot be here.” He pushes his chair back, stands up, and leaves without another word. One by one, the other nations follow, muttering their condolences and apologies until there is only England left, staring at the table.
None of the nations offer support for the idea.
---
Francis takes a deep swig from his bottle of wine, running a weary hand through his hair. He stares blankly at the TV screen, but the flickering images can’t rid him of his memories. He brings the bottle to his lips once more.
---
The silence seems to drown Alfred, smothering him like the smoke of fire and death. He falls to his knees, trying to stifle the urge to cough. He manages to croak out a quiet, forlorn, “Why?”
---
Ludwig lies silently in his bed, staring up at the dark shapes hovering over him, dancing on the ceiling. The shadows remind him of death. He closes his eyes, but the shadows remain.
---
England finally moves, rising from his chair and making his way to his child - an adult, but not nearly grown-up. He wraps his arms around him, gently rocking Alfred back and forth, humming soothing notes from a made-up song. “My son, my son…. You’ve never liked your history, have you, child?”
---
All of Asia settles around a table, a circle of solemn and exhausted faces. “How is your brother?” “How is your back?”
---
America’s strength drains from his body, and Alfred’s form begins to convulse with coughs and silent tears.
---
He was drowning… drowning… drowning… drowning in a pit of darkness. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t see. Where was everybody? There were only two sides in this war, and if they weren’t with him…
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