shadows
His shaking hands rest in the knob for a moment. He takes a deep breath, and look at his foot. He stares at the lonely shadow that stands right next to him. A shadow that for so long have always had a partner, to share everything with. It takes him a few minutes to recover the conscience. He looks at the door and finally opens it, and the view hits him like a lightning.
George feels like falling into a whole.
He sits in a bed, in ihis/i bed, and just look around. Pain comes fast, and he can't do nothing but feel it. He watches the pictures moving slowly, over and over again; he doesn't remember taking a picture alone, and he's glad he didn't. He looks at his brother's smile, that quirk smile that always was there to confort him. He takes the portrait in his cold hands, passes his fingers through every centimeter of the picture. He stares at it until it becomes to painful, and then throws it against the door. Shattered glasses are now scattered all over the floor. What a ironic coincidence; so is his soul.
Rage. Pain. Sorrow.
Feelings that you can only understand if you've been through a war. Feelings that you can only understand if you didn't come out of it entirely alive. And he feels it all.
One, two, three punches in the wall. Three more. A trace of blood is getting printed in the pale wallpaper, and he doesn't care. He doesn't know how to deal it, he really doesn't want to. He closes his eyes, trying to remember him. Remember life before this nightmare. But all he sees is the cold, palid, lifeless face of the man who has been with him his whole life. George can't stand that image. He needs to remember good things. He can't let his brother become a ghost of a war; he have to remind their good moments. He needs to. He depends on it.
As he passes his hand on his face, he finds it all wet, covered with tears. He punches the wall one more time. The blood is pretty visible now. It isn't fair; all he wants is to be complete again. All he wants is Fred right next to him.
George can't stand being in that room anymore. He closes the door, and sits against it. Hands over his face, he drown himself in grief. After spending his whole life doing jokes, he's allowed to be sore.
He notices his shadow, one more time. How he wished that shadow wasn't his.