Plant Me a Garden
Chapter 1: Fearless (Skipping the Cracks)
Beijing, 4 A.M.
Counting the white lines, skipping the cracks, screaming my heart out into the suffocating night, how did things turn out this way? The Chinaman stumbled along the road, step after agonizing step.
21-22-23…
Yao had never known such a thing as loneliness before. Even when the Japanese were trampling over him, he was never alone. After that, Ivan and Alfred came around with almost impossible claims. "I'll be your hero, indeed." Yao smiled bitterly. Both nations had come to China with the same promises. To be the hero, the shield, the armor, to protect Yao from abuse and persecution. But where were they now?
41-42-43
"I think I'm falling now…" Yao whispered into the open maw of the darkness, looking up into the starless sky.
[Superman]
…
Nearly seduced,
Skipping the cracks and counting the little yellow
Lines in the street
24-25-26
If the world falls from beneath me, will you be here to
Save me?
If only I could understand those long silent pauses
When you aren't singing
Along
I think the world may be falling now…
27-28-29
Moscow, 11 P.M.
Ivan was at it again. Drinking the vodka out of the bottle, the Russian wondered how much it would take to bring him down. Vodka, abuse, and heartbreak, he'd suffered them all. Even now, he winced as he shifted his attention towards the hole in his chest. Even while his heart was missing, he simply would not die. It was an annoying feeling, Ivan thought, to not be able to die, even when you wished to do so.
While he was mourning, General Winter had returned. While he shed tears, жестокий had utterly destroyed the Russian's sunflower garden. That beloved garden was where Ivan's first sunflower had bloomed, the one he gave to China. "Yao…" What was he without the Chinaman? He was the one who tended the garden with Ivan, trying to make the sunflower blossom. He was the one who had battled the countless nights against General Winter with the Russian. Now he no longer had China beside him. Staring into the sky tinged with the red of flames, he sighed.
For the first time in a while, he was afraid.
Washington D.C, 3 P.M.
Alfred was on a cruise ship gliding along the slowly darkening waters of the Potomac River. "Spring…is a little late this year, isn't it?" He spoke to no one in particular. The sun already had begun to set a mere 10 minutes ago, and already the temperature was plummeting. He slightly tilted the glass of champagne he was holding, raising it up to the dying sunlight. He missed bickering over things with Ivan. After all, Alfred thought, that kept things relatively 'hot'. He stared into the swirling colors inside the glass.
But…the American sighed. What had he done? What were the consequences of his arguments with the Russian? All the while, he was gambling and flirting with danger. He and Ivan tore entire countries into half, as well as utterly traumatizing China, who was clearly not the same man he used to be.
If his actions had caused this, if his actions brought on the suffering of so many, how could he be worthy of admiration and respect?
What kind of hero was he?
[[Story was requested by Ophelia Xu (yes, I take requests) Kindly review so I can improve! ^^* and the poem is NOT mine]]
Translations:
Жестокий: The Cruel One