Beware of general teen drama/angst. If you cry easy you probably shouldn't read this because you'll cry at how much you pity my horrible writing.
...
'If God kept his days in a bottle, this one would be labeled monochrome.' Ludwig thought decisively.
Bottles. Like beer bottles. Or whiskey. Something more morbid than a snow globe.
Snow globe.
That summed up his thoughts.
Scattered like so many tiny specks of snow, whirling around his head, endlessly.
But it wasn't even winter.
The pale day was fitting to his mood. Grey; like a funeral.
Drained. Like death.
The sky was wrung out, bleached white, the color of brittle, dry bones. The kind that cracked beneath your feet. The kind that Ludwig had been dreaming about for weeks now.
A veil of fog hugged the ground, hanging weightless above brown puddles. It was wet and cold.
The usually comforting scent of autumn put an already anxious Ludwig into unease. Even the city air was choked with the smell of rotting leaves.
The sleepy, dreary streets looked more like London than Berlin.
The pale day was fitting for Ludwig's dark mood but did no justice to the equally pale figure beside him, all static with authority and practically beaming.
If only for show.
Ludwig clung to his brother's sleeve like a child would cling to his mother's skirts.
But a mother would never willingly leave her child.
Ludwig knew that he should have felt some kind of mortification at being sixteen and holding his brother's hand so fiercely, and he tried, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
Each second he held on was each second closer to when he'd have to let go.
Each scuff on the flagstones beneath his feet was another step closer.
The blonde tightened his grip and surely his nails were leaving crescent impressions into Gilbert's fair skin, but his brother didn't protest.
All he had. Gone.
Gilbert would be fighting on the eastern front.
Easy. Be back before you know it, Lu.
Gilbert hadn't called him Lu since they were both children. He was trying to be comforting.
It only made Ludwig feel worse.
The station wasn't in sight yet but he could see a spot of color against the pallid sky, like the first strokes on an empty canvas. Black, billowing smoke. The artist painted with shadows.
"You don't have to." Ludwig reminded just above a whisper, a pleading tone in his voice.
Gilbert heard him all the same. "You don't understand."
Ludwig didn't understand. There were plenty of men to fight so why did Gilbert have to? Gilbert who could barely pass his eye exam. Gilbert who would surely be killed, who would surely be shot, who would surely be sent home in a box. Assuming they found him.
You don't understand.
It was all Ludwig heard anymore. He understood death. That was all he needed to understand.
You don't understand.
He had nothing to say to that. He didn't argue like the first time. He didn't stomp his foot like a child.
He lowered his dull eyes to the grey ground and forced his feet forward to match Gilbert's strides.
A keening whistle, like the cry of a wounded animal, echoed in the street and the pair quickened their pace.
Ludwig could see the station now. He swallowed. Another step.
Handsome Gilbert in his nice clean uniform. Handsome Gilbert, bloodied on a snowy field.
When the whistle stopped, silence took its place. Silent as a crypt.
Occasionally, Ludwig would hear a cough. A reassuring murmur. A sob.
The scene was nothing like what they showed at school.
These forlorn, huddled groups of families were nothing like the proud, boisterous cheering ones they showed in class.
Not here. Not these shadow people waiting for the sun to drive them away.
The train was pitch black and absolute. Some men were already loaded. Others were coaxing their wives and children to release them. Some were crying.
Not Ludwig. Not Gilbert.
They had said their goodbyes the night before. They had cried all their tears. They had promised each other no grief.
Letting go of Gilbert's sleeve was the hardest thing Ludwig could remember doing.
Maybe it was hard for Gilbert too, because he just kept his eyes on the train.
Wouldn't look at him.
It hurt.
It didn't matter. Ludwig embraced his brother anyways, a tight, desperate hold. When Gilbert's arms encircled him, he thought he'd cry.
But they'd promised.
It was so stupid but Ludwig followed through with it anyways and swallowed his sob and his chest had never hurt so much.
And then the warmth of Gilbert's arms were gone and his pale hair disappeared beneath a black cap as he turned away.
Ludwig imagined that his crimson eyes were watering, too.
His brother joined the river of soldiers, disappearing into a sea of uniforms exactly like his. Disappearing into a flood of strangers that new nothing about him.
About what made him Gilbert.
They wouldn't care if he never made it home.
'I will not cry in front of these people.' Ludwig instructed himself.
When the train left the station, and he began his walk home, without that familiar pair of footprints beside his, the first tear fell.
Gilbert was gone and Ludwig's shadow was there to replace him.
I have absolutely no excuse for this. I apologize for the sappy, overly dramatic inner turmoil. I haven't written angst in quite some time, so this was sorely over due. Anywhore, if you would be so kind as to leave a little review telling me how I did I would be very much happy. So much happy.
Also, should I maybe continue? Tell me what you think.