Hey guys! I'm back with another ficlet! It's too big to be a drabble, but it's a very short oneshot. I couldn't help myself, after reading this article on Cracked . com, this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. I was going to take the easy way out and write this about America, but I decided to do England because there is not enough England feels going around...
DISCLAIMER IS ON MY PROFILE, also that last sentence is from the article.
Read and review!
Years and years of wars and conflicts could really wear a man down, both physically and mentally. Decades could cost one his sanity, and the idea of fighting for centuries is simply unthinkable. After a thousand years one would think a line would be drawn, and yet England stands tall.
He stands tall through the heartbreak and the heartache, through the gunfire and the bombs. He bears the burden of watching his children die for him. Of watching himself die.
Over and over again.
As a nation, certain conditions must be met to reach the glory of death, conditions involving political agreements and a country wounded beyond saving.
So when he fights alongside his men, and eventually his women, he cannot escape the screams and the bloodshed with a bullet, or a knife, or any other conventional methods. He just watches himself perish a million deaths, many are similar, but none compare to the messy ones, or the slow, painful ones inflicted upon him by other nations.
None compare to seeing his guts splatter across the hard, unforgiving ground after falling from a helicopter, being shot from a building or jet.
None compare to watching the last bubble of life-giving air drift lazily out of his grasp as he sinks to the bottom of a frozen lake, awaiting rescue by someone knowledgeable enough to recognize his lifeless body as redeemable.
None compare to tasting the harsh sting of coppery blood as it slides from his mouth, his neck, his body as he slowly bleeds or starves to death, refusing to give way to the cruel torture.
(He could never subject his America to an unnecessary death over his stubborn refusal to acknowledge his independence.)
And yet he always gets back up, always rises to his feet again, ready to fight another battle, ready to win.
But one must think:
Is it even possible to enjoy an immortal body when the mind inside is shattered?