Remembrance
You remember forever the things you wish the most to forget.
Every object has a story.
In the storage shed stood piles and piles of things, untouched for years - maybe centuries - and long forgotten by their owner. A thick film of dust coated every box, every ancient sword and canon, old uniforms and the stacks of boxes that had been sitting in one place since being put there years ago.
Someday, you'll remember.
Near the back of the shed, where national feet had not tread, stood a stack of crates. The climb over other piles was a treacherous one, but somehow it had been managed and in this little cave of wonder he found something that made his heart ache like nothing else.
It was a box. Like many others, the four wooden sides were moth-eaten, worn with age, splintered. The lock was rusted, the latch withered away from the centuries of neglect. Within him, something sharp stirred and grew steadily colder.
The box's oblong shape was not unusual. It was like many others. Yet he knew this one was much more special. This box, from its age to the stains left behind by the warring of brothers - everything spoke to him.
Remember... Remember the missing soldiers, gone away forever, past a sea of cold regret.
A line of small toys stood at attention inside the box, all wearing ruby red coats and solemn faces staring up into emerald green eyes.
The toys only broke formation twice. Both of the empty places were in the middle. The missing soldiers had left behind marks in the dust, as though it knew something belonged there and was waiting for its return.
Memories flooded back to the front of his mind. Fields awash with blood, bayonets dripping red and the whooping shouts of triumph issued from the mouth of every surviving rebel as the beaten young nation lifted his head to the rainy skies and announced his freedom once and for all. The General's wary eyes watched his young ward and the brother he was rejecting. He had lead this young country to victory, had held him on his feet when England's bitterness had kept a tight clutch on him.
The days of bloodshed were over... Separated by the largest oceans, the United States of America stood proudly as a shining example that oppression could be fought and that freedom could be achieved. Left behind was the bitter, damaged pride of his brother nation and the one that had taken him in and taught him so much.
Arthur sank to his knees, slamming the narrow box into the floor with such force that the wood splintered in his grip. "Damn it all!" When Alfred looked upon his own soldiers with bittersweet remembrance, Arthur looked upon his with bitter regret and anger at his loss. "I remember..." I don't want to remember...
I don't want to...