United We Stand [6/?]
anonymous
May 10 2009, 23:40:22 UTC
The few doctors they’d allowed to touch him called it a miscarriage, while those in the west called it Bleeding Kansas. All America knew was that there was too much blood, more bloodied sheets than he’d ever remembered, and it felt like the life had been torn out of him, and that all that was left to do was the dying part.
Minnesota lay beside him, somehow sleeping soundly as pain tore at America’s stomach. Someone had put her there when he was unconscious, putting her sparse hair in pigtails. But there should have ben two little girls there, he thought, and a short cry tore from his throat. Minnesota didn’t wake.
Maybe she was dead too. His heart ached.
“Where’s my sister?” America heard from the other room. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the shouting just got louder. “Where’s my sister? Where is she?”
With a crashing noise, the sound stumbled into America’s room, all crashing and violence.
“You killed her you sonofabitch, you have no little sister cause you killed her!”
The brown-haired boy Missouri had grown into pushed over the desk with the freakish family strength, papers flying everywhere. Massachusetts rushed in soon after, blood streaming from her nose and dripping onto her dress. Once she’d grabbed Missouri, America saw that he had a fat cut across his forehead, too.
America’s hands on Minnesota’s head had left her hair bloody. His vision swam in a sea of red.
“Where’s my sister?” cried Missouri, struggling, but Massachusetts held firm.
“It’s your fault, Missouri, you killed her -”
“Nobody killed anybody,” cried America as loudly as he could, but his voice came out sounding empty and weak. His chest burned with the effort. “‘S nobody’s fault.”
“Then where’s my little sister?”
“The baby beside him bawled, her face contorted into some unhappy mask. America gently wrapped his arm around her, trying to get her to stop, because he just didn’t have the strength to get up and rock her like he should.
“Hush, this is your sister,” said America softly, trying to shush her, to shush all of them. They’d known what happened, so the least they could do was stay quiet. Missouri gritted his teeth and walked forward to get a good look at the baby.
“But she’s not Kansas, I want Kansas -”
Massachusetts yanked him back before he could touch Minnesota, and he screamed and hit back again. Minnesota cried and the noise was too much and he didn’t know how to make it stop -
But Massachusetts dragged Missouri out of the room, and half the sound was gone, but that still meant that half the sound was still there. America’s throat was dry, like he’d done enough talking for one day, but by God, still that girl wailed, and America could do nothing but whisper “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”
The door creaked open, just a little, and America couldn’t look. He thought if he saw one more person now, he’d die today.
“Dad?”
It was Michigan, though. There were too many of them now, with those “M” names. He wondered vaguely what he was thinking when a fresh wave of pain rushed over him.
“Dad wake up!”
America opened his eyes, Michigan’s hand at his shoulder.
“Whas’ happening? No one’ll tell me anything and Missouri’s screaming and you’re all”
America wasn’t listening to the boy in furs. They were all so loud.
“Take Minne,” America managed to say. “Pa needs to be left alone.
“…Okay,” said Michigan, fumbling with his baby sister, picking her up as best he could. Once he left, things were finally quiet. But for some reason, he still couldn’t enjoy it.
Minnesota lay beside him, somehow sleeping soundly as pain tore at America’s stomach. Someone had put her there when he was unconscious, putting her sparse hair in pigtails. But there should have ben two little girls there, he thought, and a short cry tore from his throat. Minnesota didn’t wake.
Maybe she was dead too. His heart ached.
“Where’s my sister?” America heard from the other room. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the shouting just got louder. “Where’s my sister? Where is she?”
With a crashing noise, the sound stumbled into America’s room, all crashing and violence.
“You killed her you sonofabitch, you have no little sister cause you killed her!”
The brown-haired boy Missouri had grown into pushed over the desk with the freakish family strength, papers flying everywhere. Massachusetts rushed in soon after, blood streaming from her nose and dripping onto her dress. Once she’d grabbed Missouri, America saw that he had a fat cut across his forehead, too.
America’s hands on Minnesota’s head had left her hair bloody. His vision swam in a sea of red.
“Where’s my sister?” cried Missouri, struggling, but Massachusetts held firm.
“It’s your fault, Missouri, you killed her -”
“Nobody killed anybody,” cried America as loudly as he could, but his voice came out sounding empty and weak. His chest burned with the effort. “‘S nobody’s fault.”
“Then where’s my little sister?”
“The baby beside him bawled, her face contorted into some unhappy mask. America gently wrapped his arm around her, trying to get her to stop, because he just didn’t have the strength to get up and rock her like he should.
“Hush, this is your sister,” said America softly, trying to shush her, to shush all of them. They’d known what happened, so the least they could do was stay quiet. Missouri gritted his teeth and walked forward to get a good look at the baby.
“But she’s not Kansas, I want Kansas -”
Massachusetts yanked him back before he could touch Minnesota, and he screamed and hit back again. Minnesota cried and the noise was too much and he didn’t know how to make it stop -
But Massachusetts dragged Missouri out of the room, and half the sound was gone, but that still meant that half the sound was still there. America’s throat was dry, like he’d done enough talking for one day, but by God, still that girl wailed, and America could do nothing but whisper “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”
The door creaked open, just a little, and America couldn’t look. He thought if he saw one more person now, he’d die today.
“Dad?”
It was Michigan, though. There were too many of them now, with those “M” names. He wondered vaguely what he was thinking when a fresh wave of pain rushed over him.
“Dad wake up!”
America opened his eyes, Michigan’s hand at his shoulder.
“Whas’ happening? No one’ll tell me anything and Missouri’s screaming and you’re all”
America wasn’t listening to the boy in furs. They were all so loud.
“Take Minne,” America managed to say. “Pa needs to be left alone.
“…Okay,” said Michigan, fumbling with his baby sister, picking her up as best he could. Once he left, things were finally quiet. But for some reason, he still couldn’t enjoy it.
XXXXX
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THIS IS SO SAD
AND SWEET
AND HISTORICAL
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I'm from Minnesota, and this just tugs my heartstrings.
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