Civil Dispute
Fandom: APH
Characters: Egypt
Summary: It was like fighting a war against yourself, except for the part where he actually was. Drabblesque.
Warnings: Ripped from the headlines. An college student's take on a mature, real-world topic full of miserably fail. Emo writing because Max sucks. You have been warned.
It felt like he was being ripped apart.
The origin of this feeling was, likely, that Egypt was in fact being ripped apart. He felt it in his bones, his blood, in the disconnect between his body and his brain. There were days he wondered if he could survive the pain, if he would be his own undoing. There was no point in hiding it from the other nations. Even if he could hide the wounds, carved by his own errant hand, his pain would be told by the lines in his face and the blankness in his eyes.
He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the suffering of his people flashed before him. The rioters' anger and fear swept him up, carried him away until he couldn't tell what was Egypt the person or Egypt the nation or Egypt the people, couldn't see anything without shades of oppressor versus oppressed and past versus future layered over his vision like a blindfold. There were too many questions and not enough answers, too many doubts and not enough security. His heart argued against his brain which fought his soul, little wars and deaths that amounted to nothing in the end but noise.
The process of change was painful. This was something he knew acutely, a process he had watched a thousand times. The world was constantly dying and being reborn. Each country and every people were reshaped by the ages a thousand times over, every nation and every government created over again and again in the people's misshapen image. At least, he supposed, he knew he would not crumble to dust. In one way, or another, both he and his people would emerge from this ordeal stronger than ever.
But that day was not today. Today, and for many days after, he waited and longed for an ending.