Ireland
'Twas the dream of God,
And the mould of His hand,
That you shook 'neath His stroke.
That you trembled and broke
To this beautiful land.
Here He loosed from His Hold
A brown tumult of wings,
Till the wind on the sea
Bore the strange melody
Of an island that sings.
He made you all fair,
You in purple and gold,
You in silver and green,
Till no eye that has seen
Without love can behold.
I have left you behind
In the path of the past,
With the white breath of flower,
With the best of God's hours,
I have left you at last.
Dora Sigerson,
1866-1918
Neil and Lyle strode down the steps of their school. Moments before the bell had sounded, releasing the children from their classrooms. Girls and boys streamed past them, shouting and laughing. Neil waved good-bye and smiled when prompted, as Lyle was aloof at his brother's side. The sky was overcast, brimming with gray clouds, threatening rain. Advancing to the sidewalk, Lyle tarried and regarded his brother.
"Neil, come with me. I have something to do." Lyle causally insisted. Neil eyed his twin brother through the same blue color of eyes they shared, turning to face him.
"Don't be bold. Mom and Amy want us home." Neil replied good-heartedly. Lyle began to walk in the opposite direction of their home, his pace slow hoping his brother would follow. Neil groaned, and after hesitating ran after Lyle.
Dublin's Northside was known for being working-class. Its neighborhoods were condensed and lively; the river Liffey sundered it from the Southside. Traditionally which side of the river you lived on determined how easy one's life was. The Dylandy boys took pride in Northside, often falling into scuffles due to the rivalry much to their mother's dismay. However, their father would give them wry smirk and nod, and quietly inquire about the details when they were out of Mrs. Dylandy's earshot. Lyle typically provoked the fight, inevitably impelling Neil to jump in and come to his brother's aid.
"And where are we going?" Neil inquired.
"I'm going to get some fags." Lyle answered. Neil laughed dubiously, shaking his head. Lyle was slighted at the laughter, but proceeded to walk undeterred. The brothers ambled down the sidewalk's span, turning left on to Frederick Street, maneuvering through crowded side of the street.
"I think Constance likes you." Neil mused, gripping the straps of his backpack.
"What? She talks to you." Lyle said his tone skeptical.
"Only because I am easier to talk," Neil answered, quieting his brother in thought. Lyle frowned.
"Everyone likes you better." Lyle accused void of conviction.
"Not Constance." Neil spoke matter-of-factly. Lyle chuckled in spite of himself. The twin brothers trekked down Parnell Street, hotels with intricate facades began to line the street. Lyle paused, and instructed his brother to stay in place.
"Tommy said the guy doesn't want too many kids bugging him. I'll be fairly lively." Lyle averred, and began to jog to cross the street in time.
Standing the corner of O'Connell and Parnell, Neil watched his brother walk away. Towering over streets' traffic was memorial to the un-crowned king of Ireland. The man's likeness was cast of iron, gesturing greatly while posed next to a podium draped in fabric. The granite obelisk cast a shadow, smearing darkness over the pavement. Neil idly read the inscription, "To Charles Stewart Parnell, no man has a right to fix the boundary to the march of a nation. No man has a right to say his country thus far shall thou go and no further. We have attempted to fix the ne plus ultra to the progress of Ireland's nationhood and we never shall."
Neil crossed his arms, standing in quiet contemplation. He could never grasp his nation's blood-soaked past. It seemed so idiotic to him, to war against one's own countrymen over labels, merely words. Sure he roughed up some Southside kids, but he never took the differences seriously. Neil stared at Parnell's iron features and disbelieved one man could make such a difference.
He began to pace, waiting for his brother began to vex Neil. He checked his watch; nearly thirty minutes had slipped by. Neil sighed; his mother and Amy would be waiting. He observed Lyle amidst the throng across the street. Lyle nonchalantly approached, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Neil rolled his eyes.
"Now people will tell us apart." Lyle asserted while standing before Neil, struggling to light a match.
"Mom will kill you." Neil warned. Lyle scowled, lighting the cigarette, shaking the match to kill the flame. Neil started walking; his twin brother barely inhaled the cigarette's smoke, and instantly started to cough. Lyle sheepishly smiled at his brother. However, Neil took no notice. Neil could not understand his brother most of the time. They were entirely different from one another, yet Lyle was fervent of making certain everyone was aware. Lyle caught up with Neil, matching his speed, toying with his lit cigarette.
"So you think Constance likes me?" Lyle asked his brother, this time keenly more intrigue after having time to mull it over.
"Yeah, she—" Neil was interrupted. Thunder reverberated, the boys ceased their movements. The clamor was deafening, shaking the glass of the storefronts. The sky was besmirched with black smoke, smearing over the clouds. The smoke snaked up from the earth before them, its source hidden behind buildings. Neil gasped; the boom was not from the sky but from an explosion. Neil gaped at Lyle, fear manifesting upon his face. Lyle regarded his brother wide-eyed as Neil broke into frenzied run. His heart was pounding, gripped in keen terror.
"Neil! Wait!" Lyle implored as he began to chase after his brother. As Neil raced down the sidewalk, his rang, his backpack pounded against his back with his long strides. The closer he became he could hear a chorus of screams and cries. In the distance sirens sounded. The neighborhood was in panic, people were stumbling out of there homes dazed and terrified. The building in which the Dylandy's had there home had been eradicated, only the hull of its foundation stood afire. The fire roared, screaming in Neil's ears, as the ash fell like snow. Neil ran headlong into the destruction, yelling desperately for his parents and Amy. Tears streamed down his face as began his futile search. Smoke stung his eyes, as the flames make his skin hot. Heavy arms encircled Neil's urging him back. Neil resisted, direly fighting the man pulling him away from the smoldering devastation.
Lyle stood agape in the middle of his street, too stricken by fear to advance any further.
Notes: Any and all comments or criticism appreciated. Also, this was written before episode nine of season two came out and is entirely incorrect, hah hah, oh well.