Happy birthday Alfred, throw our dark history America still stand strong
At the crack of dawn, he awoke to sounds and smells of memories. Cannon fire and men shouting, the deafening booms and miniature explosions all around. The smell of earth and iron that followed, the colors; the dark brown of moist soil and haunting crimson of blood; his blood. A soldier passing him bye with sadness in his eyes as the numbing; to everyone and everything except the grayness of the sky, he remembers it all.
'Why am I remembering the first time I died?' he thinks staring at the ceiling. Bright blue just like the sky he saw when he awoke, the same red that stained his shirt, and the color of the snow that laid around him. The fact that he was all alone in a desolate field with corpses and craters, but no sound not even the wind.
The walking of miles only to find no one, nothing but scattered remains of an encampment. The disappointment of getting to a town only to find out that they have been gone for two weeks. The reality of realizing he was left behind and the shock of hearing from New York that he had been dead.
When he finally caught up with the army; being told that George and all the humans mourned me, had almost given up because of my foolishness, and the guilt it had caused me. Brought out of my mind, by the blearing of 'proud to be an American' and seeing the date July fourth.
'Oh, it's my birthday' he thinks numbly. Staring at the flag colored room he was staying in, emotionlessly like he's as dead as he was on that field. 'What's the point' he questions himself while pulling off his pajamas and putting on the clothing sitting next to him 'It feels like every other day'
Then a note catches his sight 'Alfred remember our Happy You Ani't Dead party. The prank that got Gilbert to piss himself laughing' love Virginia. And he does; the smell of strong cider and beer and ashy warming smell of the fire, the colors of ambers and browns all around the room. Pure joy coming from everyone, just happy that he is alive.
He remembers the stubborn asshole who called him a witch, being covered in honey and salt. The screaming he made when a heard of deer started chasing; him licking the salty-sweetness away. When Gilbert shirked in drunken joy and the smell of piss mixing in with the yeast and ash in the air.
How the embarrassing situation only made them laugh more even Gilbert, making fun of himself 'Good Old Prussia' he thought with a smile and the actions of getting ready became that much easier.
The day goes on and before breakfast, another bad memory bubbles up towards the surface, caused by the burning smell coming from the kitchen. "Massachusetts, get out! Your burning things" Georgia yelled one of the few things that could cause him to, was that smell.
"Bite me! rebel brat" he yells back
'Rebels are running, sir. The city is burning' That smell, that hellish smell and the screams that follow. Men, woman, and children civilians, all victims of Sherman's march, all memorialized by a large burn scar right over his liver. He can feel the ghosting pains, the flesh being torn and scorched then scaring back together.
The sickly sweet scent of his flesh burning and guilt, so much guilt at seeing Savannah and Georgia both scared from head to toe and anger at Sherman and his men at even thinking that this was ok or that they thought of imprisoning his family.
Violent churning tells him he couldn't stomach a bit of what was being made. " You do realize I can feel pain when you think of things like that, Alfred" thick southern voice spoke with a tone of concern "Sorry Alford, I'm not feeling well" my voice is dead.
" If I recall, you spent the next few years building back up Savannah and every other place I ruined. They have all forgiven you, do learn to forgive yourself. I am very tired of suffering from your guilt" the confederacy chided in a worried tone
"They've forgiven us both, brother," I tell him and now I think some peach pancakes and old glory toppings sounds good. He smiles and we go in.
The next memory is brought on by a voice, Mexico arguing with Texas about him joining me. The sand and heat are the first things I feel; boiling heat cooking me in my uniform, the pelting of dust striking me, wind burning my skin. Even in defeat he still stands tall; red eyes glaring freezing me even in the sweltering sun.
The fool I was; even if a war is won, a battle can still rage on and that's what happened. In a moment of weakness I let down my guard and in that time I found myself covered in crimson; my head sliding on to the ground. "Long live the imperialists, till there heads fall. Alfred, I will never forgive you"
The words are spoken by my once lover; never would he look at me in the same loving look, that stole my heart. His gaze catches mine and I can't deal with the anger.
'I need to hide' I think as I cry and that's what I do, sadly loneliness only brings more pain, more terrible memories, more reasons I shouldn't be celebrating: 9/11, the ghosting of the dead's memories the pain of cracking and the shame of being weak. The fear and confusion; the twin towers, the Pentagon, and flight 93 each growing the pit in his stomach as he thinks
He remembers each life fading slowly, screaming in fear before nothing. That's the worst part about things like this, they play over and over again like a skipping depressing track put on replay, closure never comes and you never forget; no matter how far you go, they are gone and won't be coming back.
Hurricane Katrina, the flooding waters getting into my lungs and Louisiana's the damage stretching all the way up to Ohio. Drowning and floating, the feeling of life being drawn out of you and there is nothing you can do because you are not there you're in a meeting, dry drowning from a tragedy millions of miles away.
Pearl Harbor and the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki 'an eye for an eye' they say but I took it way to far, more than I ever should have. I remember the ghost feelings of the bombs hitting my men, like gunshot wounds without a bullet. He can taste the bitter-sweetness of vengeance or was it revenge, honestly, he can't tell.
He still sees the planes overhead, visiting his daughter that day. The first pang of pain and he hears Ailani cry, he sees her mother -the big island rage and seeing Oahu bleeding from his chest. The wound on Hawaii pouring blood from her navel and mine from my back left kidney. I laughed at Kiku's sniveling half alive form and felt nothing afterward; now misery and more guilt are all I have left.
"So this is where your hiding, you know it's never a good idea to be alone on your birthday, gringo" the closet door opens and Mexico joins me. "I can't stop!" I wailed
"I know... July 4,1802 west point military academy opens, what were you doing?" he asks
"I was at the opening ceremony..." I think back, I recall the smell on that morning the heavy air, the soldiers marching. The pride that would have been in geroges eyes, should he still be breathing. I'm in a uniform standing tall thinking of the funny faces Iggy would have made if he could see me now.
"I stood amongst my generals and dedicated the building to George..." he cried, having a nostalgic little smile on. Drifting into the daydream of joy before curling up and sobbing, calling out something. He remembered losing them John and Thomas he saying goodbye to one and news of the other came.
"I couldn't say goodbye, to John" I cried
"Adam's"
I nod and he starts singing and my vision starts going black but I feel safe
...
When I wake up I hear two voices, the first is deep and rough 'It's Marcos' but the other is soft and quiet, calming and warming safe in its own way. "Ahw, come on Alfred everyone's already here and the party starting"
"Oh hey Maddie, yawn. Say didn't France find you on the fourth?" I need reassuring that something good happened on this day "Yeah, say didn't he give you the statue of liberty today?" he said
"Yep!..." on my centennial France arrived with creates, he was laughing at me I think... No, he was at England. He was mocking the man for still holding a grudge about my revolution and how it was about time to grow up. When I pointed out that he still complained about Canada, he acted just like England would complaining and defending his actions.
When we turned to leave I saw England dodge behind a building I'm glad he was still thinking about me, even if it caused him to cough up blood. I asked France that he said it was a way of showing how nations were hurt. So that got me thinking as they dragged upstairs, into the waning light.
'I must have been asleep for a long time' I thought did England still hate me in some way. Then that battlefield comes to mind, the rain pouring down and look of devastation in his and a hint of confusion. I was the cause of that and the downward spiral that followed.
"There you are you pratt!" a voice I thought I would never here called to me on this day
"Arthur?"
He looks embarrassed and maybe hurt by the unbelieving look in my eyes "Hello Alfred" he calls and as the first of the fireworks paints the sky bright. I think this may have been one of the best birthdays yet "Daddy! you're here! you're really, really here!"
The surprised looks and the tearful hug reminded me of something someone once said ' Even throw the night there will be a dawn awaiting you at the end' And I just reached mine.
Historical events mentioned,
American revolutionary war, Apr 19, 1775 – Sep 3, 1783
Sherman's march- American civil war, Nov 15 throw Dec 21 1864
The restoration of the American south post-civil war, 1865- 1877
The Mexican-American war, 1846- 1848
9/11 terrorist attacks- the Twin towers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93, Sept of 2001
Hurricane Katrina, Aug 23 throw Aug31 2005
Pearl Harbor, Dec 2 1941
The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Aug 6, 1945 – Aug 9, 1945
July 4,1802 west point military academy
Deaths of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, July 4 1826
Trois-Rivieres Quebec is founded, July 4 1634 or when France found Canada
The Statue of Liberty was presented on July 4, 1884 by France but wasn't built and dedicated until Oct 28 1886
Siege of Yorktown- last battle of the American revolutionary war, Oct 19 1781