Dedicated to those who lost their families in World War II
War, in general, is a terrible thing.
Where there is no hope, there is a fire.
London, or Jeremy as he was normally called, stared out into space, his pale face calmly watching the cars zoom past his comfortable home. He blinked, smiled, and then stood, preparing to go make a cup of Earl Grey tea. That was, until he heard the chorus of screams.
Do you hear their cries?
The yells, the sheer bloodcurdling screech of planes echoed in his ears, causing him to gasp just from the volume. Steadying himself on a cabinet, Jeremy looked out his window once more to see the streets he had just seen moments ago alive with flames and the dead.
Do you feel their pain?
Jeremy grasped his shoulder, a sudden and acute pain appearing. A bright red blotch began to show, and Jeremy began to shake in fear. Blood dripped from between his long fingers, and he could feel his throat burning up from the gases of the bombing planes.
Do you see?
It was them. The Germans. They'd come for him. Wait, no, they weren't here to capture him. They were here to kill him.
Do you act?
Letting out a hiss of frustration, Jeremy dashed out of his home, into the burning streets that resembled his state of mind. Everything around him, from people to houses, was crumbling down from the fierce attack. Seeing a small girl no older than five, Jeremy bent down to pick her up. She wailed, her tears falling down her face like crystal rain. And Jeremy could do nothing but hold her. He couldn't even comfort her, tell her that her parents were all fine. Because he knew he couldn't tell a lie.
Where are you?
He was in London. Where the bombs were falling, where death was creeping around the corner, and where young girls were left with nothing but their tears. London had been a great city, of preposterous trading ports and bustling businesses. Now it was the capital of smoke and death.
Do the mockingbirds call?
He heard the small chirping before he saw the cute little bird. Still holding the girl, Jeremy saw a flying mockingbird soar elegantly across the death scene, filling the area with a small glimmer of hope. It was a signal from God, wasn't it? That they would keep on singing; rise up from their ashes, just like Poland. They would be larks that would come back each season, tweeting a simple tune and flying around with their beautiful wings.
No, no, they do not.
And right when Jeremy thought there was hope, the fire came. The bird that gave him hope was burning alive in front of his eyes, its song stopped and now burning. The little bird was dead; its feathers were burnt, and its body was destroyed.
We are lost.
"Arthur," Jeremy sobbed. "Brother!" he yelled, wishing that England would come. Wishful thinking, it was. The girl that he held began to sob with him, the bombs still falling. He didn't care about getting them to safety. He was doomed, just like his citizens. It was just like the American Revolution, where he could do nothing but watch and cry.
Hush, child, let me ask you a question.
Jeremy blinked tears out of his eyes. The girl stopped sobbing, her great emerald eyes staring into his own. Her silky brunette hair laid by her sides, and she stretched her arms out to him, cuddling his face like a mother. The child had seen it all; his tears, his weakness, his ignorance, yet she still hugged him like any other person.
Who are you?
Soon enough, he lost it all. The girl lay limp at his feet, bleeding, a soft smile playing upon her lips even in death. The poor five-year-old girl who had lost her life that day would haunt Jeremy and his assailant for the rest of their lives, perhaps even centuries later. For Jeremy was on his knees, his throat giving way to the screams he had kept inside of him. He cried openly, since there was nothing left. Since Germany was standing in front of him, rifle in hand.
Poor boy, it's time for bed.
Jeremy looked up to see Germany raise his gun to his head, a grim expression plastered stoically on his face. Feeling the rifle's muzzle on his temple, Jeremy laughed, tears streaming down his face. He would laugh at death's face. Oh, yes, he would laugh until bedtime. He would keep on laughing, and laughing, because that was all he could do.
Sweet dreams, child.
The echo of a gunshot resounded through the turmoil. Everything seemed to stop for a moment, homing in on death. Then, as if nothing had happened, everything resumed. People continued to weep, scream, and fall, just like the bombs that killed them.
It's funny
To see them all like this
Lost in humanity
Because, you know
We are all the same!
We are just like
Crystal rain.
Wet and beautiful one moment
Gone and destroyed the next.
We fall from the clouds
Elegant and perfect
Then hit the ground
And splat!
We're defeated.
Like the girl that died
Will you smile
Even as you cry?
Laying on your deathbed,
On the ashes,
When we die,
We are all
The same,
Just like
Crystal rain.
England stood in the rain, the city of London crying around him. He was frantic, searching for his brother. Germany had gotten here first, he knew. But Germany didn't have the guts to kill his brother.
Did he?
"JEREMY!" England yelled himself hoarse, just screaming for his little brother. He knew, somewhere deep inside, Germany did have the guts to shoot.
But where was London?
Throwing up his hands in despair, England stared at the bleak sky above him, filled with a thick layer of smoke.
Dear London, he thought.
Where could you be?
A/N
Lame ending is lame as usual. This is my one-shot of what happened to Jeremy the Jerkface, when he lost his memory and Germany took him away. Hrrrmph kidnapped him.
I only added England's view for a short bit because he IS important. I mean, who wouldn't freak if the only guy that didn't leave you for independence got murdered by your current enemy? Well, not murdered, but you know.
Psheeet, hope you guys like it. I know I know it's always Jeremy, but London is just fun to write about. And emotional, too. I hope this little hidden message reaches you readers, since it's the only thing I can say online.
Review, since I read 'em all.