I lied on the last title--2/3
anonymous
June 5 2013, 01:41:15 UTC
“Take down the missiles in Turkey. This is your last chance.”
“I won’t! You can’t tell me what to do with my missiles. How about you take down your missiles aimed at my country?”
“Do you take me for a fool, puny Amerika?”
“Shut your face, you commie bastard!”
The two great superpowers were both standing up, their chairs long forgotten, hands braced on the conference table, leaning across it to glare heatedly at each other, embroiled in the hatred brought on each other by their respected governments.
Neither of them could fathom how they’d ever been friends; they despised each other down to the very last atom and those eyes, which had once gazed at each other with such childish joy at their easygoing friendship now condemned the very same for their differing ways of going about things. What had begun as distrust between two had continued to mount until it seemed every day that the two were on the verge of destroying the entirety of the world in their eagerness to crush each other.
And how they hated each other, what a glorious, dangerous game they played with their hate. No one who had seen their friendship before could have ever predicted the extent to which their violence towards each other could grow. Alfred was forever being held back by his politicians and generals to stop him from leaping at Ivan and causing WWIII over whatever it was they argued about this time. For his part, Ivan wanted him to come. He wanted to see America bleed, to see him in pain; that perfect little nation who had grown up the apple of England’s eye and now had the gall to tell him his way was wrong. If he had experienced a single hundredth of the suffering Ivan had seen and gone through, he would not be so critical of it! Of this he was sure.
America, the one who always proclaimed himself to be the hero, could not abide by Russia’s treatment of the other USSR nations; he had changed to drastically Alfred couldn’t reconcile the nation he had thrown balls for and given the singular favor of the United States with the tormentor of Eastern Europe.
Of course, there were times when the two nations were not properly restrained and they came back from meetings with black eyes and dark bruises and split lips. Neither held back against each other; the momentum their volatility had gained began to frighten even their own governments, who were the ones to spur it along to begin with.
For a long time, it seemed the world was destined to be boiled alive in the fires of Russia and America’s hate.
***
And then one day it was over.
The USSR fell and the Cold War ended and that, it seemed, was that.
When America approached Russia at the end of that year, the world held its breath. Cocky, arrogant, prideful America went up to his longtime enemy and the world held its breath. Snarky, youthful, triumphant America strode off the plane into Moscow and the world held its breath.
For a long time, there was only silence.
The two looked at each other, still distrusting, still disliking, but no longer on the brink of brutally murdering each other. The USSR was decimated and Russia glared at her, waiting for the bragging, waiting for the taunts, waiting for Alfred to rub it in his face.
The whole world waited for it.
But something had changed in his expression, something small-perhaps he had grown since Ivan had last evaluated him. Because he did none of those things. Rather, he offered Russia a portion of financial aid. And then he left.
He did not fix things. He did not step out to repair their friendship. But neither did he laugh, or mock Russia in his downfall, or make things worse. He offered part of an olive branch, perhaps, and ended hostilities between them with a certainty.
“I won’t! You can’t tell me what to do with my missiles. How about you take down your missiles aimed at my country?”
“Do you take me for a fool, puny Amerika?”
“Shut your face, you commie bastard!”
The two great superpowers were both standing up, their chairs long forgotten, hands braced on the conference table, leaning across it to glare heatedly at each other, embroiled in the hatred brought on each other by their respected governments.
Neither of them could fathom how they’d ever been friends; they despised each other down to the very last atom and those eyes, which had once gazed at each other with such childish joy at their easygoing friendship now condemned the very same for their differing ways of going about things. What had begun as distrust between two had continued to mount until it seemed every day that the two were on the verge of destroying the entirety of the world in their eagerness to crush each other.
And how they hated each other, what a glorious, dangerous game they played with their hate. No one who had seen their friendship before could have ever predicted the extent to which their violence towards each other could grow. Alfred was forever being held back by his politicians and generals to stop him from leaping at Ivan and causing WWIII over whatever it was they argued about this time. For his part, Ivan wanted him to come. He wanted to see America bleed, to see him in pain; that perfect little nation who had grown up the apple of England’s eye and now had the gall to tell him his way was wrong. If he had experienced a single hundredth of the suffering Ivan had seen and gone through, he would not be so critical of it! Of this he was sure.
America, the one who always proclaimed himself to be the hero, could not abide by Russia’s treatment of the other USSR nations; he had changed to drastically Alfred couldn’t reconcile the nation he had thrown balls for and given the singular favor of the United States with the tormentor of Eastern Europe.
Of course, there were times when the two nations were not properly restrained and they came back from meetings with black eyes and dark bruises and split lips. Neither held back against each other; the momentum their volatility had gained began to frighten even their own governments, who were the ones to spur it along to begin with.
For a long time, it seemed the world was destined to be boiled alive in the fires of Russia and America’s hate.
***
And then one day it was over.
The USSR fell and the Cold War ended and that, it seemed, was that.
When America approached Russia at the end of that year, the world held its breath. Cocky, arrogant, prideful America went up to his longtime enemy and the world held its breath. Snarky, youthful, triumphant America strode off the plane into Moscow and the world held its breath.
For a long time, there was only silence.
The two looked at each other, still distrusting, still disliking, but no longer on the brink of brutally murdering each other. The USSR was decimated and Russia glared at her, waiting for the bragging, waiting for the taunts, waiting for Alfred to rub it in his face.
The whole world waited for it.
But something had changed in his expression, something small-perhaps he had grown since Ivan had last evaluated him. Because he did none of those things. Rather, he offered Russia a portion of financial aid. And then he left.
He did not fix things. He did not step out to repair their friendship. But neither did he laugh, or mock Russia in his downfall, or make things worse. He offered part of an olive branch, perhaps, and ended hostilities between them with a certainty.
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