Farewell Bruder
The German man stood looking at the sky. Although he was dressed perfectly in a German military uniform his stance was one of defeat and sadness. His shoulders were slumped and his blue eyes were turned towards a sky of an identical colour. Blond hair was falling from its hold in its normal slicked back fashion; it now hung over his forehead and swirled softly in the breeze.
It was the fall of 1947. The wheat now stood about waist high and shifted its soft golden colours in the chill breeze. It was about time for harvest. To the man's left was the burnt out shell of an old German tank. The wheat had been planted around the old carcass of war.
The man's eyes were still trained on the sky. The eyes were distant, lost in a faraway though that drifted on the autumn breeze. These were the eyes of a nation who's seen war. These eyes have seen death, defeat, abandonment, and betrayal. In a term, they're eyes that outlived War.
Outlived, survival is still to be determined. His heart had been torn into four pieces and he stood now on pure German pride and will.
But sometimes even that isn't enough. If the world wanted you gone enough, you disappeared.
February 25, 1947.
His brother was the closest thing to him. He'd stuck with him through many wars and troubles, no matter how stupid.
It was incredible, how a nation created by the Knights and renowned for battle, could be brought down by some words and signatures on a piece of paper.
It didn't seem fair. He wasn't even there with him when the once-powerful nation winked out of existence.
He wasn't able to thank him. He wasn't able to say that he loved him.
It would have been hard to say but, for his bruder, he would not have been ashamed to try.
The blonde strained his memory, recalling the last words his brother said, "Keep moving forward West! I've got the eastern front for ya!" Hell, he didn't even know when that was.
A single, transparent tear rolled softly down the man's cheek.
A soft, familiar peep drew the man from his thoughts. Blue eyes focused and scanned the horizon. The breeze picked up again against his back, rustling the crops.
Spotting the tiny yellow bird against the sky, the German gave a faint shadow of a smile. As the small ball of feathers drew nearer the man held out his index finger. The chirping yellow ball landed with a slight bounce and peeped at him. The smile grew slightly.
Gilbird rubbed himself lightly against his perch and peeped again. If a bird could sound mournful this one could. Ludwig understood and gave a knowing nod.
He extended his hand to help the tiny bird take off and watched as it began its flight. To where, the man would probably never know. But he understood. KeepmovingforwardWest!
"Farewell bruder Preußen."
A fanfiction based off of http:/browse. deviantart. com/ ?q=Hetalia%20germany%20gilbird&order=9&offset=96#/d3jco1f
Sorry it's so sad...
Picture drawn by angElvis.