[CHALLENGE] a hole in the ground or a burial mound - Drabble
Title: a hole in the ground or a burial mound
Prompt: Pretend (drabble challenge)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: America
Rating: Mature
Warnings: War. Soldiers. Morality. This piece is a bit dark, and here Alfred (almost) questions himself and his war. References the Vietnam War and more than its atrocities (as all wars have), this focuses on Protagonist Centered Morality. (tv tropes link)
Notes: I respect the army very much, and I do love my history. War is brutal and the soldiers are not at fault for anything, because they're really just following orders. This piece is a bit dark and not for just everyone, so please read the warnings.
Alfred knows that he deludes himself.
But he means well. Really.
It's just that sometimes he can't do anything but think of it optimistically. Happily.
It's not that he forgets. It's that he doesn't like thinking about it.
He remembers drowning in sweat underneath the tropical sky, his camouflage uniform sticking to him like a bulky second skin. The rifle is heavy on his shoulder and hard against his thighs, steel weighing down on him like an anchor. In the foxhole he is safe, shielded away from the enemy. Supposedly.
The mosquitoes buzz above him. He swats them away and closes his eyes, feels his heart pounding in his ears. His lungs are on fire.
When there are bombs he looks forward. Heroes do that. They don't shield themselves from anything.
If someone screams he doesn't cover his ears. He pretends that they are the enemy. He pretends that he is helping them. This is why he went into the army. This is why he wanted to fight.
That night he battles mosquitoes. During the day he battles soldiers.
But he knows his real battle is inside.
Alfred closes his eyes and pulls the trigger. The recoil hits him but he steadies his body. Corpses fly like ragdolls, sacks of meat punctured by bullets now. Communists. Soldiers. Men. Humans. The enemy.
He breathes.
Prompt: Pretend (drabble challenge)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: America
Rating: Mature
Warnings: War. Soldiers. Morality. This piece is a bit dark, and here Alfred (almost) questions himself and his war. References the Vietnam War and more than its atrocities (as all wars have), this focuses on Protagonist Centered Morality. (tv tropes link)
Notes: I respect the army very much, and I do love my history. War is brutal and the soldiers are not at fault for anything, because they're really just following orders. This piece is a bit dark and not for just everyone, so please read the warnings.
Alfred knows that he deludes himself.
But he means well. Really.
It's just that sometimes he can't do anything but think of it optimistically. Happily.
It's not that he forgets. It's that he doesn't like thinking about it.
He remembers drowning in sweat underneath the tropical sky, his camouflage uniform sticking to him like a bulky second skin. The rifle is heavy on his shoulder and hard against his thighs, steel weighing down on him like an anchor. In the foxhole he is safe, shielded away from the enemy. Supposedly.
The mosquitoes buzz above him. He swats them away and closes his eyes, feels his heart pounding in his ears. His lungs are on fire.
When there are bombs he looks forward. Heroes do that. They don't shield themselves from anything.
If someone screams he doesn't cover his ears. He pretends that they are the enemy. He pretends that he is helping them. This is why he went into the army. This is why he wanted to fight.
That night he battles mosquitoes. During the day he battles soldiers.
But he knows his real battle is inside.
Alfred closes his eyes and pulls the trigger. The recoil hits him but he steadies his body. Corpses fly like ragdolls, sacks of meat punctured by bullets now. Communists. Soldiers. Men. Humans. The enemy.
He breathes.