PRUSSIA THE ENDLESS

Our meditation is a play with seven scenes.

Watch it, and despair.

I DREAM

That day, every one of them attended Prussia's funeral.

Of course, he's not with them.

He stands at a distance with the crowd, a pale and transparent ghost who comes to attend his own funeral. The coffin descends into the open grave slowly, no mournful songs around it, no speeches, no silent tribute; this is only a rite, a rite to validate his death. Gilbert thinks he just saw Alfred. F. Jones and Arthur. Kirkland, but he is not sure if what he really saw are an old man with top hat and an old lady. He played with the idea of giving them a finger from the coffin, but then abandoned that-he's not able to do that anymore. He's not able to do anything to the WORLD anymore.

That's why he chose to die.

The wooden board scratched hard when it touched the base of the grave. The Allies all give a relaxing sigh. He saw Ludwig stretches out one hand to drop the iron cross on the lid with soil. "Damn it." He grunts. He doesn't want to watch his bruder's face, so he turns his head and asks his companion:

"When the hell CAN I die?"

DREAM raises his brow.

"I mean…really die? Disappear?" He spread his hands and pretends to be boring about that, "Till the last Prussia-born dies? Till east and West Germany unites? Fritz's ghost, the towns and states are still celebrating their anniversaries of joining Prussia…when the fuck can this stop and let me have my final rest?"

"I'm afraid that's not up to you." DREAM says quietly. "For you were born as an artificial state, you have no right to enjoy Der süßerTod. Execution, abolition…they can never kill an idea. Remember that word? The king is dead. Long lives the king. It is just Ludwig filled your place. The idea names Prussia never dies."

"Fuck."

He sighs deeply and crouches down, hands holding his head. The last wind of winter howls around him. A puff-feathered sparrow stands before him and watches him dully. He spats to it, looking it startles and flies into the gray-clouded sky.

"Where shall I go now?" he says, depressing. "Build a camp to live on the Potsdam plaza?"

"Well," says DREAM, "In fact, there are plenty room for you to live. In the shifting zone. Where the worlds meet."

There is a library of nowhere, in which lays every book unfinished, only planned, or forgot and rewrote.

"All your diaries are reserved there." says DREAM.

There is a place of nowhere, in which lives creatures never exist, lays continents only dreamed, dwells old Gods forgotten.

DREAM gives him an inviting hand.

"Welcome BACK, Prussia." He says, "To the dream."