【 the pariah. 】
Into the Background © JazzieMi
Pushed.
Pulled.
Tugged away.
It was against his will.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want to submit to this.
To Russia.
He thought he was strong enough.
But he wasn't.
It did not make any sense to him.
No one dared assist in fighting with him.
No one helped him.
Blood.
Blood.
Streaming down his face.
He fell to his knees, arms limp to his sides,
and eyes wide.
He didn't know how to feel.
He couldn't feel.
He wasn't himself anymore.
In 1947,
he had died.
But, her familiar voice,
the voice of his angel,
of Elizabetta,
rang in his ears.
She would send him to a better place,
to Heaven.
Where he wouldn't feel pain,
or sorrow,
or anger.
He would rest peacefully.
To his astonishment,
Prussia did not die.
He himself was spared.
But, his nation was not.
He had never been one to cry.
Red tears stained his gloves,
at the flagrant realization of his situation.
He was now the outcast in a sea of misfits.
No one could save him, now.
No one could see him, now.
No one cared about him, now.
.
.
.
30 Seconds To Mars © "This Is War"