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usxuk2011-07-05 11:00 pm
salmonme.livejournal.com) wrote in usxuk2011-07-05 11:00 pm
Entry tags:
[Summer Camp] Twenty-Five
Title: Twenty-Five
Genre: Angst...again...
Word Count: 1584
Rating/Warnings: PG for the tiniest snippet of a war scene?
Summary: This is actually a belated Fourth of July piece. So no badges for me. How England and America spent America's Twenty-Fifth Birthday.
"As of tomorrow, you've been your own country for twenty-five years now. To other countries, that may not seem like much. But I think it's quite an achievement. Alot of people never even believed we'd gain independence at all."
"Thank-you, sir." Alfred gave a nod.
"I know things haven't been easy, but I fully believe we'll continue to grow. Vermont came around, didn't they? Ohio is well on it's way to becoming our seventeenth now."
"I know." It wasn't an easy road by any means. And there'd been as much talk of ceding from the states they had as there had been talk of joining. It had taken Vermont fourteen years in all before officially becoming a part of the country. Sometimes he doubted himself. So much conflict, was it normal? Was it a reflection on him? Had he not been as ready for the responsibility as he'd thought? But they hadn't lost anyone yet, and in fact continued to grow. That had to count for something, right? "I'll get better at this. We'll show them." He offered a confidant smile he wasn't certain he truly felt.
"Well, let's leave that alone for now, though. Tomorrow, we're going to celebrate. You'll be there, right?"
"Of course! It's my birthday celebration after all." His smile was for real this time. He loved the chance to celebrate with his people - regardless of the occasion. But this celebration - the one that marked him becoming his own country. It had a special place in his heart. He was no longer a child in the eyes of the world because of that day. It was as exhilarating as it was frightening.
-------------------------------------------------
Rain. Rain fell from the sky. He was used to the rain, but this rain felt different. Colder, harsher...as if even the rain was telling him it wasn't the same anymore. This rain was not his rain. These were no longer his lands. Across the field Alfred stood, dressed in a uniform of his own making. But ironically similar to his own. Just like the flag they carried.
'If you're so independent, why are you imitating me?' He wanted to mock, but the words wouldn't come. He felt no sense of smugness; no feeling of superiority that he usually felt on the battlefield. Instead, it seemed the sight in front of him cut into his heart like a knife. Even while declaring independence, Alfred was holding onto their shared history. It would have been so much easier to see him as a stranger - to hate him - if he was throwing it all away.
Every other time in his history, these changes had been marked by a division. A wall. A language. A flag. A barrier. Why wasn't it so now? Now when he needed that division - that protection - the most?
"I'm Independent - accept it!"
'Words. Stop using words. Shoot. Shoot and make us enemies.' He wanted to shout. But Alfred didn't shoot. "This is why I say you never go through with anything!"
Face to face, a gun length away. 'Shoot." He told himself. 'If you don't shoot now, you'll never have that barrier. That protection. Shoot him and make him the enemy.'
But he wasn't the enemy. And as he sank to his knees he realized he had no protection against his own heart.
"You used to be so big..."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Arthur's head was throbbing as he opened his eyes. The comfort of his home did nothing to help the pain. He felt nauseous and cold. Huddling under the covers, he realized it was the fourth of july. And the pain wasn't going to go away.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"I need something nice...something nice. Argh!" Alfred tossed clothing out of the closet onto the floor in his frustration. The party tonight was far too fancy for the worn out work clothes. Then the suit in the back of the closet caught his eyes. Pulling it out gently, he studied it. A bit behind the fashion, perhaps. But not enough to be considered in bad taste. Men's fashion didn't move as fast as women's. And it had come from Europe, so it had been ahead of American fashion at the time.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"It's too fancy for everyday...I'll save it for a special occasion."
-------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred held the suit close. "Today's a special occasion." He murmured.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Arthur had sent a note to his boss that he was not feeling well. It was an exact copy of the eighteen previous letters sent on the previous Fourth of Julys since the war had ended. Curled up in his bed with a warm cup of liquor that had been tea until that didn't work, he was unfortunately finding the liquor wasn't working much better. The pain and nausea weren't going away. It did make him care less about it though, and despite the chill that wouldn't seem to leave his bones, he risked abandoning his cocoon of blankets for more.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred bowed to his dancing partner before slipping away from the dance floor. Earlier in the evening he'd stood alongside his boss and greeted the visitors. He liked the friendly way he greeted each with a handshake. The affair seemed less formal with such a beginning, and he'd liked that. Dinner had been a success, and the music seemed to put everyone in good spirits. Alfred was enjoying himself, but at the same time he felt as if there was something tugging at the back of his mind and weighing him down. More than once he found himself smoothing down the suit he was wearing, as if expecting someone to scold him for it looking wrinkled or frumpy. Nobody did, and Alfred wondered briefly if it was normal to find that disappointing.
"Your dancing skills are apparently the envy of the night." His boss offered him a smile as he brought him a cup of the punch.
"I wouldn't put it like that." He shook his head in denial as he followed him to a quieter section of the gathering outside.
"Well, I was rather surprised. I didn't realize you knew how to dance."
Alfred glanced at the punch in his hand as they found a private corner. "England taught me to dance." He replied quietly.
"...I see." The other's tone was stiff.
He shouldn't push the subject. Knew this was one subject they'd never agree on, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself from asking the next question that came to mind. "Some of the countries are here tonight, and others sent ambassadors, right? Did he? England, I mean."
"....Why don't you go take a look at your gifts? Quite a few countries sent tokens of their regard."
The change in subject, Alfred reasoned, was on purpose. He was avoiding the topic for both their sakes, but it still made the answer clear. He let his hair fall in his face to obscure the twinge of disappointment he felt. "Sure."
------------------------------------------------
Somewhere in his drunken stupor Arthur had found the handkerchief. He couldn't remember where the half-completed gift had been for the last twenty-six years. Only that somehow he'd found it, and decided to finish it. And as he embroidered star after star around the border - how many did the brat have now? He couldn't remember, so he just kept stitching - the memories on his mind weren't mud and rain. They were sunny summer days in the forest, and chilly winter nights curled up by the fire reading books aloud to a captive audience. "I want...I wish..." He found himself whispering, but never completing the thought.
Because he wasn't at all certain what he wanted and wished. Just that it was there, and it wasn't going away. And it still hurt, and he was still cold, and his fingers kept sewing. Star after star.
------------------------------------------------
Alfred returned to his house tired, and with an armload of the gifts his boss had mentioned. After setting them down on the table he sat down by the cold fireplace when a light by the window caught his eye. It danced around a table there before seeming to disappear. A firefly? But he'd left no windows open. He went over to the table and found a handkerchief folded neatly on it, embroidered on all edges by stars. He didn't recall seeing it before he left, or at all really. For a moment he was confused, but the more he stared at the piece of cloth, the more the work felt familiar. "Arthur?"
-------------------------------------------------
Arthur groaned as he opened his eyes, not sure which part of his pounding head was a reaction to the day before and which part the liquor. He felt horrible, which he'd expected to feel. And yet he also felt like he was better than on previous years. He noted his sewing kit open on the nightstand and glanced around - trying to remember what he'd been working on. But his mind only drew a blank. Burying himself back under the covers, he let himself drift back to a sleep without nightmares.
-------------------------------------------------
Alfred awoke to sunshine coming in his window, and it took a moment for his sleep-fogged brain to remember the previous night. Wondering if the handkerchief had been a dream, he sat up to look at the nightstand. The little cloth still sat there, embroidered with it's stars. Picking it up, he held it close, a small smile lighting his face.
Fini
I wasn't going to do this prompt, but work was slow yesterday and so I started writing this. And I meant to finish it last night, but it got too late. Ah, well, no badges for me. But I figured I'd post it anyhow. (And I can't figure out what to do with the military prompt anyhow. And even if I tried it would get too late.) It's really rough, I'm not used to forcing myself to get through fics so quickly...sorry.
Genre: Angst...again...
Word Count: 1584
Rating/Warnings: PG for the tiniest snippet of a war scene?
Summary: This is actually a belated Fourth of July piece. So no badges for me. How England and America spent America's Twenty-Fifth Birthday.
"As of tomorrow, you've been your own country for twenty-five years now. To other countries, that may not seem like much. But I think it's quite an achievement. Alot of people never even believed we'd gain independence at all."
"Thank-you, sir." Alfred gave a nod.
"I know things haven't been easy, but I fully believe we'll continue to grow. Vermont came around, didn't they? Ohio is well on it's way to becoming our seventeenth now."
"I know." It wasn't an easy road by any means. And there'd been as much talk of ceding from the states they had as there had been talk of joining. It had taken Vermont fourteen years in all before officially becoming a part of the country. Sometimes he doubted himself. So much conflict, was it normal? Was it a reflection on him? Had he not been as ready for the responsibility as he'd thought? But they hadn't lost anyone yet, and in fact continued to grow. That had to count for something, right? "I'll get better at this. We'll show them." He offered a confidant smile he wasn't certain he truly felt.
"Well, let's leave that alone for now, though. Tomorrow, we're going to celebrate. You'll be there, right?"
"Of course! It's my birthday celebration after all." His smile was for real this time. He loved the chance to celebrate with his people - regardless of the occasion. But this celebration - the one that marked him becoming his own country. It had a special place in his heart. He was no longer a child in the eyes of the world because of that day. It was as exhilarating as it was frightening.
-------------------------------------------------
Rain. Rain fell from the sky. He was used to the rain, but this rain felt different. Colder, harsher...as if even the rain was telling him it wasn't the same anymore. This rain was not his rain. These were no longer his lands. Across the field Alfred stood, dressed in a uniform of his own making. But ironically similar to his own. Just like the flag they carried.
'If you're so independent, why are you imitating me?' He wanted to mock, but the words wouldn't come. He felt no sense of smugness; no feeling of superiority that he usually felt on the battlefield. Instead, it seemed the sight in front of him cut into his heart like a knife. Even while declaring independence, Alfred was holding onto their shared history. It would have been so much easier to see him as a stranger - to hate him - if he was throwing it all away.
Every other time in his history, these changes had been marked by a division. A wall. A language. A flag. A barrier. Why wasn't it so now? Now when he needed that division - that protection - the most?
"I'm Independent - accept it!"
'Words. Stop using words. Shoot. Shoot and make us enemies.' He wanted to shout. But Alfred didn't shoot. "This is why I say you never go through with anything!"
Face to face, a gun length away. 'Shoot." He told himself. 'If you don't shoot now, you'll never have that barrier. That protection. Shoot him and make him the enemy.'
But he wasn't the enemy. And as he sank to his knees he realized he had no protection against his own heart.
"You used to be so big..."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Arthur's head was throbbing as he opened his eyes. The comfort of his home did nothing to help the pain. He felt nauseous and cold. Huddling under the covers, he realized it was the fourth of july. And the pain wasn't going to go away.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"I need something nice...something nice. Argh!" Alfred tossed clothing out of the closet onto the floor in his frustration. The party tonight was far too fancy for the worn out work clothes. Then the suit in the back of the closet caught his eyes. Pulling it out gently, he studied it. A bit behind the fashion, perhaps. But not enough to be considered in bad taste. Men's fashion didn't move as fast as women's. And it had come from Europe, so it had been ahead of American fashion at the time.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"It's too fancy for everyday...I'll save it for a special occasion."
-------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred held the suit close. "Today's a special occasion." He murmured.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Arthur had sent a note to his boss that he was not feeling well. It was an exact copy of the eighteen previous letters sent on the previous Fourth of Julys since the war had ended. Curled up in his bed with a warm cup of liquor that had been tea until that didn't work, he was unfortunately finding the liquor wasn't working much better. The pain and nausea weren't going away. It did make him care less about it though, and despite the chill that wouldn't seem to leave his bones, he risked abandoning his cocoon of blankets for more.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred bowed to his dancing partner before slipping away from the dance floor. Earlier in the evening he'd stood alongside his boss and greeted the visitors. He liked the friendly way he greeted each with a handshake. The affair seemed less formal with such a beginning, and he'd liked that. Dinner had been a success, and the music seemed to put everyone in good spirits. Alfred was enjoying himself, but at the same time he felt as if there was something tugging at the back of his mind and weighing him down. More than once he found himself smoothing down the suit he was wearing, as if expecting someone to scold him for it looking wrinkled or frumpy. Nobody did, and Alfred wondered briefly if it was normal to find that disappointing.
"Your dancing skills are apparently the envy of the night." His boss offered him a smile as he brought him a cup of the punch.
"I wouldn't put it like that." He shook his head in denial as he followed him to a quieter section of the gathering outside.
"Well, I was rather surprised. I didn't realize you knew how to dance."
Alfred glanced at the punch in his hand as they found a private corner. "England taught me to dance." He replied quietly.
"...I see." The other's tone was stiff.
He shouldn't push the subject. Knew this was one subject they'd never agree on, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself from asking the next question that came to mind. "Some of the countries are here tonight, and others sent ambassadors, right? Did he? England, I mean."
"....Why don't you go take a look at your gifts? Quite a few countries sent tokens of their regard."
The change in subject, Alfred reasoned, was on purpose. He was avoiding the topic for both their sakes, but it still made the answer clear. He let his hair fall in his face to obscure the twinge of disappointment he felt. "Sure."
------------------------------------------------
Somewhere in his drunken stupor Arthur had found the handkerchief. He couldn't remember where the half-completed gift had been for the last twenty-six years. Only that somehow he'd found it, and decided to finish it. And as he embroidered star after star around the border - how many did the brat have now? He couldn't remember, so he just kept stitching - the memories on his mind weren't mud and rain. They were sunny summer days in the forest, and chilly winter nights curled up by the fire reading books aloud to a captive audience. "I want...I wish..." He found himself whispering, but never completing the thought.
Because he wasn't at all certain what he wanted and wished. Just that it was there, and it wasn't going away. And it still hurt, and he was still cold, and his fingers kept sewing. Star after star.
------------------------------------------------
Alfred returned to his house tired, and with an armload of the gifts his boss had mentioned. After setting them down on the table he sat down by the cold fireplace when a light by the window caught his eye. It danced around a table there before seeming to disappear. A firefly? But he'd left no windows open. He went over to the table and found a handkerchief folded neatly on it, embroidered on all edges by stars. He didn't recall seeing it before he left, or at all really. For a moment he was confused, but the more he stared at the piece of cloth, the more the work felt familiar. "Arthur?"
-------------------------------------------------
Arthur groaned as he opened his eyes, not sure which part of his pounding head was a reaction to the day before and which part the liquor. He felt horrible, which he'd expected to feel. And yet he also felt like he was better than on previous years. He noted his sewing kit open on the nightstand and glanced around - trying to remember what he'd been working on. But his mind only drew a blank. Burying himself back under the covers, he let himself drift back to a sleep without nightmares.
-------------------------------------------------
Alfred awoke to sunshine coming in his window, and it took a moment for his sleep-fogged brain to remember the previous night. Wondering if the handkerchief had been a dream, he sat up to look at the nightstand. The little cloth still sat there, embroidered with it's stars. Picking it up, he held it close, a small smile lighting his face.
Fini
I wasn't going to do this prompt, but work was slow yesterday and so I started writing this. And I meant to finish it last night, but it got too late. Ah, well, no badges for me. But I figured I'd post it anyhow. (And I can't figure out what to do with the military prompt anyhow. And even if I tried it would get too late.) It's really rough, I'm not used to forcing myself to get through fics so quickly...sorry.