A/N: No idea where this came from. Synesthesia is sort of like writing things that don't really exist- describing things that can't be seen or literally touched, using all five senses.
This is war. I don't know what war, or when, but it is. It's also short, from Prussia's point of view, and probably very confusing. I want to continue it, but I have no idea how, so it's complete for now. Please comment and say...well...anything, because I have no idea what to say, myself!
A war. You can feel it.
Listen to the water of the earth. Feel the solid vibrations of the air.
A battle. Your true home.
Fight for the Fatherland.
Your father did win this land. It was his battle, his citizens. Reach out and embrace his soul.
Stroke the heartbreak. It's imminent. Your brother and the one girl he's fighting for.
They're lovers. This war will tear them apart.
You don't care.
You can feel the drums ringing in your ears as you are caressed by the enemy's bullets.
The enemy. You smirk.
He doesn't stand a chance.
The end. It's near. You can feel the sensations in your blood, rushing through your ears. Coursing through your body is the strength of a nation wielding the arrow of doom. You can see it in your dreams. He's down. On his knees, his men at gunpoint. Look into the agony of an empire. See its leaders drowning in despair. You can visualize the screams of the soldiers, picture the smell of their blood.
Gaze into the eyes of the wind.
It beckons, the cliffs calling you in. You stop to hear the poison, to listen to the desire dripping from her throat.
She wants him.
She'll never have him.
She screams as he tells her the truth, the aroma of betrayal sharp in the tangent air. She's drowning in a bouquet of love, will, and sacrifice—she knows he's not coming back.
You inhale the fragrance of memories, subtle reminders of ill-tempered times as you drag him back to battle. Your voice is rough thunder as you order him back to the front lines. The skirmish parts.
And there he is. He is calm, determined. His textured will is no match for your seasons. You watch his velvet shape, his satin poise as he glides across crushed blue fields. His voice is transparent lightning as he tries to regain control.
You want him dead and buried.
You want him more than you'll ever know.
A/N: What do you think? Please review!
