Hello the people~ I have a thing for you. Just a short little one shot based off of the song The War Was in Color by Carbon Leaf. It's a really lovely song. ^^
I don't own the song. Or Hetalia.
Oh, and if there's something that doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll try to clear things up.
Alfred slowly walked into the room. He was never allowed in this room, and since all the adults were busy with something else now was his chance to get a peek as to what was in this room.
Looking all around the small room, he pulled out one of the many boxes. Alfred pulled open the to. Dust particles flew into the air, tickling his nose. Alfred peered into the box's contents. Piles of black and white photos, small pins and medals, a handgun, a helmet, dog tags, and envelopes filled with folded papers.
"I see you've found a box of my things." A young man, about the age of 21, squatted next to Alfred. He was wearing a green military uniform. He smiled, yet his eyes told of an unknown horror and sadness. His name was Arthur Kirkland.
He looked over the boys shoulders at the photos he was flipping through. They were pictures of infantries, tanks and smoldering airplane wings. The memories of each photograph were seared into Arthur's mind. He could never forget what he saw during the war.
"These old pictures are cool! Tell me some stories! Was it like the old war movies?"
Arthur chuckled. "Sit down lad. Let me fill you in." He let out a soft sigh, allowing all of the memories from the past fill his thoughts for what felt like the first time. "Where to begin? Let's start with the end."
He tapped the black and white picture that held the image of a group of soldiers grinning and waving at the camera. "This black and white photo don't capture the skin, from the flash of a gun to a soldier who's done. Trust me grandson, the war was in color."
Arthur could picture it all clearly. From shipyard to sea, from factory to sky. From rivet to rifle, from boot camp to battle cry. Soldiers storming onto beaches. Citizens duckings in cover from dropping bombs. The sounds of planes roaring overhead.
Soldiers all around were being shot down, littering the beaches with dead bodies. He wore a mask up high on a daylight run. It held his face in its clammy hand. He crawled over coconut logs and corpses in the coral sand. Gunshots echoed through the air. From the shock of a shell or the memory of smell, he remembered everything. The water and sand was dyed red, and if red is for Hell, then surely the war was just that.
Arthur held a canvas bag over the railing, the dead released with the ship still sailing. Out of his hands and into the swallowing sea. "I felt the crossfire stitching up soldiers into a blanket of dead, and as the night grows colder in a window back home, a Blue Star is traded for Gold. When metal is churned and bodies are burned, that's when victory is earned."
Arthur watched as Alfred put everything back into the back, save for one photo. A picture of a young soldier, about the age of 21. The man in the picture grinned at the camera, but his eyes told a story of horrors and sadness. On the back there was a short message, signed Arthur Kirkland.
Taking care to grab the colorless photograph, Alfred ran right through Arthur and where he had been standing. A strange, unknown feeling filled Arthur's gut as he watched the young boy run off to join his parents.
"Now I lay in my grave at age 21, long before you were born, before I bore a son. What good did it do? Well hopefully for you, a world without war and a life full of color."
Where to begin? Let's start with the end. This black and white photo never captured my skin. Once it was torn from an enemy thorn straight through the core…
The war was in color.