It was a cold and bitter morning; the wind had a cutting edge that would leave even the most hardened man shivering. The sky was cloaked in a cold purple shroud that was slowly burning warm amber as the new dawn arose over hills of ever green trees; the air was filled with birds singing and the smell of wood soil and dew from the light rain fall a few hours ago. The trees glistened like they were decorated for Christmas as the dew caught the morning sun.
Nestled between two hills and a forest of trees was a small humble woodman's hut, it was made of wood and had a cobbled stone chimney that was belching smoke, some one was home.
Inside the main living aria was large leather bound chair that had seen better days, it was pointing to the stone fire place, and in front of the chair was a small table, on the small table was a sabre that glowed amber in the fire light, looking like once more it was in the forge being shaped from a shattered broad sword, it was a sword that had tasted blood flesh and bone the hand guard was golden and shone like the sun, the handle was black leather that tapered down to a golden pommel. It was a symbol now, no sword had been used in combat since world war one and the time of the sword had ended in a bloody cavalry charge on a machine gun nest.
Sitting in the leather chair was a man his eyes never leaving the glistening blade. He sat forward in the chair a hands supporting his head by the chin, his eyes were crimson red and looked old and warn, his hair was platinum blond and raged yet shone, his skin was pale but young yet waxy and old. His clothes were old and torn up weathered with age and use and his whole demeanour was that of a much older more tired and worn out man, yet he looked no older that twenty eight yet gave off the feeling of a man of ninety or older, his name was Gilbert he was the physical embodiment of the kingdom of Prussia.
(Gilbert)
He felt so hollow now; he never knew that anyone could feel so empty and alone as he does now, he used to feel millions of people around him at any time, and it was reassuring, now he was alone and he had never felt more abandoned. He had been forced into the Soviet Union and his nation and flag were dissolved, the kingdom of Prussia was no more, he was after that the democratic republic of Germany (GDR) or East Germany or simply East. Russia had beaten it into his states that he was no longer Prussia.
But if he was no longer Prussia then who he was, he had heard storeys of nations fading away roomers of death but no facts or hard evidence. Just here one day and gone the next. Was this his fate to fade away?
He had always imagined that he would die in battle fighting head held high and defiant until the last stroke of the sword or the last bullet hit him. An awesome death for one such as him.
He turned to his right at another table and there sat an old hand crank record player he wound it all the way up and listened to songs of his glorious youth, Der Königgrätzer Marsch was the first song that played. He remembered the first time that he had heard it, he remembered battalion after battalion marching in the square as he and old fritz watched. Next came the Prussian glory march the song he had been waiting for. He clasped his sword tightly in one hand brining the tip of the blade to his chest, and then using both hands he drove the blade through his heart. The last thing he thought was.
"Liz forgive me".
