AN// This makes me sad. D:
In honor of 12/7/41 and President Roosevelt's speech the very next day.
--
He looks over at England and France, and maybe he sees his brother Canada over there, he isn't really sure. He is still wearing his bomber jacket, smoky and acidic smelling it may be. He wonders for a moment if England can see him through the swarming masses - his citizens always were partiers - until those green eyes lock with his own blue ones. He tries out a smile, but it just doesn't seem to fit on his face anymore. He doesn't start towards the odd ensemble of blonds, and they don't move towards him. He wonders if they can see the splatter of pain and regret and guilt on his face that he feels within himself, even though he's not sure if he wants them to or not.
--
Ohgogohgodohgodohgodhogod-
Why does it have to hurt so much?
--
He knows that they tell him it wasn't his fault, he knows that they'll say their scientists contributed to it too. But he's the one that pressed the button; he was the one against Japan.
Oh- Japan.
God.
He'd gave a passing thought to it, to what Japan would think, but being his normal idiotic self, he'd just ignored it, hadn't seriously thought about it in the slightest. He thinks to Pearl Harbor, to the scar along his side, and he can't help but think that Japan will have one, no, two, far more horrible marks on his body after everything is over and done. (He shudders to think of the pain the Asian country must be going through.)
--
"Ar-Arthur?"
"Oh god- Alfred…"
"It hurts…"
--
He can't even muster up enough anger to think that Kiku – no, he doesn't have the right to call him that anymore – that Japan deserved it in anyway. No one deserved that, no person, country, no one, not even Germany. (Or rather, Germany's leader.) He can still remember how he felt, just those few years ago, when so many of his children died. And – god – Japan's are still dieing. So many dead, so many dieing…
--
So many of his children are gone, and yet so many still are left to grieve. And he can only stand by and feel their pain with them.
--
He feels like a monster, right now, as if the hurt and anger he can't help but to feel clawed it's way out and enveloped him, coated him with shadows. Like this happy-go-lucky face he wears is nothing but a façade, and sooner or later (Or now.) the mask is going the fall off, and then he fears that no one will be spared from his wrath. Like everything, and anything in his path will be wrecked to shreds, and he's so scared for those who stand in his way that wish nothing for him but the best.
Like he's going to hurt the ones he loves.
--
"Amérique? How are you?"
"Alfred, are you okay, eh?"
"Rest and be well, aru."
"Alfred…"
--
Heroes shouldn't kill like this.
Heroes should be out, thinking up ridiculous schemes that everyone knows will never work.
Heroes should be trying to save the world, and end up laughing at their mistakes.
Heroes should be annoying their brothers and the polar bears that can never seem to remember the brother's name.
Heroes should be curled up with their green-eyed beauty, feeling loving and loved, waiting for forever to come and go before wanting to move.
He is not a hero.
--
"Don't worry a bit England, you've got the hero one your side now. And besides, the good guys always win."
--
Is this what winning feels like?
(Why does it hurt so much?)
--
Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, Members of the Senate, and of the House of Representatives:
Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 -- a date which will live in infamy -- the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…
…I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.
--