Dark Frontier: Eagle
anonymous
August 27 2009, 17:25:12 UTC
America was dreaming the Dream again. He hated the Dream. He could not be happy in the Dream, he could not be carefree or optimistic. The Dream gave him nothing to be happy about. For all his strength and his can-do attitude he was powerless to change what the Dream showed him. America would have face the Dream head on, like always
( ... )
Dark Frontier: Eagle
anonymous
August 27 2009, 17:30:22 UTC
“But why? I’m trying to help you!” he asked with bafflement.
“Liar!” Vietnam shouted at him. “You don’t care about me, you just want to fight Russia!”
He wanted to deny it, but words failed him. She ran off again but this time she didn’t come back. Her words continued to ring in his ears throughout the war though as he fought and killed. As more people died and his own grew disillusioned. At long last he left, millions dead and nothing accomplished. It wasn’t till later that he realized that his last thoughts hadn’t been on Vietnam, but along the lines of: You win this time Russia…
The Bald Eagle flew straight at him again. Claws outstretched and screaming at him. Golden eyes pierced his blue ones. America never broke eye contact, sending his own thoughts into the bird of prey…
When he saw her again at a UN meeting Vietnam looked tired. She spotted him but immediately averted her eyes, he did the same. Years passed and this routine continued. Until the day they somehow found themselves sitting next to each other. The awkward looks
( ... )
Dark Frontier: Rattlesnake
anonymous
August 29 2009, 03:54:36 UTC
The beady black eyes gave no hint to the reptile’s feelings but the tail did a fine job of telling America it was angry at him. For his part, America decided the smart thing would be not to make any sudden movements. Partly hidden in the grass and concealed in the darkness the Rattlesnake only let its head be revealed as it focused on America. He tried to resist the urge to blink as the snake slithered closer to him, rattling all the way. A foot away now and the creature of his Dream slowly lifted itself higher to better see into his eyes…
America watched as trains carrying Japanese-Americans left there stations for some remote areas of California. Confused and forlorn faces stared at him from the windows. America stared back, not knowing what to think. They would be taken to internment camps for the duration of the war
( ... )
Re: Dark Frontier: Rattlesnake
anonymous
October 30 2011, 08:21:13 UTC
This was very well done. I particularly appreciated your choices for the symbolism. I miss the rattlesnake as America's animal lol.
Normally, I don't care for America/Vietnam (I'm conservative military!anon and America is by no means completely over the rage of that war) but you dealt with it delicately.
Maybe you're a Sinner (1/6)
anonymous
August 30 2009, 10:37:31 UTC
Romano is home from Antonio’s house today, so Feliciano is cooking Marinara Spaghetti to celebrate. He knows that Lovino is only here because he’s had a fight of some kind or another, but that’s okay. His older brother simply leaves Spain when he’s disgusted enough to do so- North Italy is used to it, and to the angry unpacking that ensues upstairs
( ... )
Maybe you're a Sinner (2/6)
anonymous
August 30 2009, 10:43:49 UTC
The first day Gilbert refuses to believe.
Perhaps it’s some sort of sick practical joke. That must be it. So he sits on the wooden bench he wakes up on and stares up at the single bare bulb that throws shadows onto the mildewed ceiling and is bored.
The second day begins when a harsh voice wakes him. The light flickers and the door to the underground room shakes on its hinges. “Aufstehen!” it orders, and as sleepy as Prussia is he doesn’t want to disobey. He scrambles to his feet and stands to attention. But no one comes in
( ... )
Maybe you're a Sinner (3/6)
anonymous
August 30 2009, 10:51:34 UTC
“Are you going to tell us what we want?” it says in a voice like wind and freedom.
What do you even want from me? Gilbert thinks though his tongue is so swollen he cannot say it.
“A confession.” The Eagle has blood in its eyes. “It would be very easy for us to find your brother, Herr Beilschmidt. One quick trip to the West, one blow to the head, and he could be right here beside you.”
Prussia rasps. “NO! No-“
“You love this, don’t you?”
“No! What are you-“
The Prussian Eagle spreads its wings and keens loudly. “You do. Spying. Hating. The efficiency with which someone’s mind can be broken down into algorithms and patterns. The security of mind that you lack, Prussia. The State Security.”
“No!” he screams at the bird, mad. “Russia! That was fucking Russia! Not me-“
“The Deutsche Demokratische Republik was fucking Russia, Gilbert. Like the dirty whore you are. Communism. Red red red between the bed sheets. And here you stand,” it mocks, “unable even to stand your own torture
( ... )
Maybe you're a Sinner (4/6)
anonymous
August 30 2009, 10:59:41 UTC
It’s a labour camp. A Grizzly Bear is standing by the gate.
“My brave boy,” she rumbles. “My brave, brave, good son.” And Ivan collapses into the she-bear’s scarlet brown fur and is somehow made colder. “I’m so proud.”
“Mother?” he whispers like a ghost.
“There’s something you came here to do, isn’t there?”
He pauses, in a dream. Then nods as his face brightens. “I…” His voice breaks and is almost lost in the bitter cold. “I want to…to make…my family happy.”
“That’s right. No war. No crime. No pain. No danger.” She shifts and swings her great head towards the huddled shapes of people inside of the compound. “That’s what they want, too.”
Is that really what they want? But the redness of his scarf and his love burning in his empty frozen chest, Bear-close, quash the thoughts that flitter down his spine. His boss is telling him to do it. His very nature is telling him- after all, Ivan was (or is) simply the world’s most dangerous idealist
( ... )
Maybe you're a Sinner (5/6)
anonymous
August 30 2009, 11:05:12 UTC
“That’s right!” Feliks relaxes, still taught as a bow string. “I don’t have to see this. Show Ludwig.”
The bird laughs, a fluty sound in the rabble of chaos around them. “Szmalcownik. You hypocrite.”
Poland’s blood runs cold. “Oh pu-lease,” he stresses, though his fingers are prickling with something buried in the deepest recesses of his mind. “That wasn’t really me. That was just ‘cause of Germany. And Russia.”
“And it was because of Germany that Jedwabne happened?” Poland remembers killing, remembers Ludwig watching him with sharp blowtorch eyes as he strangled children and shot their parents. The talons in his skull dig up the worst he has inside, and Poland hates. The bird on his head trills and presses a beak deeper into his ear
( ... )
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(The comment has been removed)
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I loved how you introduced the animal. thank you!
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“Liar!” Vietnam shouted at him. “You don’t care about me, you just want to fight Russia!”
He wanted to deny it, but words failed him. She ran off again but this time she didn’t come back. Her words continued to ring in his ears throughout the war though as he fought and killed. As more people died and his own grew disillusioned. At long last he left, millions dead and nothing accomplished. It wasn’t till later that he realized that his last thoughts hadn’t been on Vietnam, but along the lines of: You win this time Russia…
The Bald Eagle flew straight at him again. Claws outstretched and screaming at him. Golden eyes pierced his blue ones. America never broke eye contact, sending his own thoughts into the bird of prey…
When he saw her again at a UN meeting Vietnam looked tired. She spotted him but immediately averted her eyes, he did the same. Years passed and this routine continued. Until the day they somehow found themselves sitting next to each other. The awkward looks ( ... )
Reply
America watched as trains carrying Japanese-Americans left there stations for some remote areas of California. Confused and forlorn faces stared at him from the windows. America stared back, not knowing what to think. They would be taken to internment camps for the duration of the war ( ... )
Reply
Normally, I don't care for America/Vietnam (I'm conservative military!anon and America is by no means completely over the rage of that war) but you dealt with it delicately.
Reply
Reply
Perhaps it’s some sort of sick practical joke. That must be it. So he sits on the wooden bench he wakes up on and stares up at the single bare bulb that throws shadows onto the mildewed ceiling and is bored.
The second day begins when a harsh voice wakes him. The light flickers and the door to the underground room shakes on its hinges. “Aufstehen!” it orders, and as sleepy as Prussia is he doesn’t want to disobey. He scrambles to his feet and stands to attention. But no one comes in ( ... )
Reply
What do you even want from me? Gilbert thinks though his tongue is so swollen he cannot say it.
“A confession.” The Eagle has blood in its eyes. “It would be very easy for us to find your brother, Herr Beilschmidt. One quick trip to the West, one blow to the head, and he could be right here beside you.”
Prussia rasps. “NO! No-“
“You love this, don’t you?”
“No! What are you-“
The Prussian Eagle spreads its wings and keens loudly. “You do. Spying. Hating. The efficiency with which someone’s mind can be broken down into algorithms and patterns. The security of mind that you lack, Prussia. The State Security.”
“No!” he screams at the bird, mad. “Russia! That was fucking Russia! Not me-“
“The Deutsche Demokratische Republik was fucking Russia, Gilbert. Like the dirty whore you are. Communism. Red red red between the bed sheets. And here you stand,” it mocks, “unable even to stand your own torture ( ... )
Reply
“My brave boy,” she rumbles. “My brave, brave, good son.” And Ivan collapses into the she-bear’s scarlet brown fur and is somehow made colder. “I’m so proud.”
“Mother?” he whispers like a ghost.
“There’s something you came here to do, isn’t there?”
He pauses, in a dream. Then nods as his face brightens. “I…” His voice breaks and is almost lost in the bitter cold. “I want to…to make…my family happy.”
“That’s right. No war. No crime. No pain. No danger.” She shifts and swings her great head towards the huddled shapes of people inside of the compound. “That’s what they want, too.”
Is that really what they want? But the redness of his scarf and his love burning in his empty frozen chest, Bear-close, quash the thoughts that flitter down his spine. His boss is telling him to do it. His very nature is telling him- after all, Ivan was (or is) simply the world’s most dangerous idealist ( ... )
Reply
The bird laughs, a fluty sound in the rabble of chaos around them. “Szmalcownik. You hypocrite.”
Poland’s blood runs cold. “Oh pu-lease,” he stresses, though his fingers are prickling with something buried in the deepest recesses of his mind. “That wasn’t really me. That was just ‘cause of Germany. And Russia.”
“And it was because of Germany that Jedwabne happened?” Poland remembers killing, remembers Ludwig watching him with sharp blowtorch eyes as he strangled children and shot their parents. The talons in his skull dig up the worst he has inside, and Poland hates. The bird on his head trills and presses a beak deeper into his ear ( ... )
Reply
Germany is a pillar of grey in the pregnant, bloody silence that hangs in the air. “Nie wieder,” he reads. “Never again ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Too put it simply, You blew me away author!Anon
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