The gods find me problematic… Does lightning burn or freeze?
Sometimes you think to yourself, "Poor Prussia. I wonder what he's doing today. It must be very boring and depressing being immortal and omnipotent. How does he find things to do?"
I can see your thoughts! I know you think that about me! But rest assured, it's crossed my mind a lot more. Yes, eternal life does get boring, and it does get depressing. But that's what orange juice and long jogs are for. If you've got a problem, you fix it. No use giving Complaint any more company. He's a short, ugly little attention-seeking snivel-snort, and the Great Prussia owes him nothing.
There's nothing for me to be afraid of. Dying? I've done it. Trapped in the void? Been there. Beyond my world is another. Beyond my universe, another. And beyond the universes, meh, why even bother learning what's back there? I understand how it all works now. Life is just a state of existing a certain way for a certain amount of time, and keeping certain sets of memories like the beads of an abacus. In this moment, I am Beilschmidt, Gilbert A. Male. German. Born in Berlin, 18/1/19—. (Geez, gotta get that updated. No wonder I got that senior discount.)
All right, fine. I'll admit reading my own passport is ONE of the things I do when there's absolutely nothing else to do. But doesn't seeing all the places I've been make me a worldlier man? Huh? Wink-wonk? Do I get points for being worldly and cultured? Fiber artists? Do the fiber artists approve of my worldliness? I mean, I don't want to sound controversial, but—
My thoughts are cut off by a huge crack of thunder right above my house. It's a miracle I could even find the safety box the passports are kept in. The power's been out for twenty minutes now, and every few seconds there's a different dog nose wiggling in my crotch for comfort. I invite Blackie and Aster up onto the couch with me, but they don't trust me as much as Germany and keep winding their way around the basement, switching between crawling under my bed and burrowing into the dirty laundry.
I rush up the stairs quick and peek out the window. The sky's totally black except for the frequent bursts of lightning. It's raining over the center of Bonn, where Germany went to pick up more toothpaste and marshmallows and drop off all the baby blankets and prayer shawls I made with the ladies at the Lutheran church. (I had to use the "Acrylics." It's a fierce hierarchy.)
My phone glows eerily on my pale face. No new texts from him. Only the expected «Take the dogs in the basement with you» he sent after I told him about the power outage.
Blackie squeals in the basement, but it's nothing compared to the sudden blaring of my phone. I almost drop it in fright before scanning the warning text. Damn, I forget online shopping uses my phone's location, and now the government can send me jumpscares!
«TORNADO WARNING FOR BONN, EXPIRES 6:30 PM. TAKE IMMEDIATE SHELTER»
It's 6:03. I reach one hand up and heighten my awareness, sensing the atmosphere through the house. Nations know seismic activity like the drop of an egg, but weather is unknown until we take damage. Now, I'm getting better with reading energies… the clouds are bending and twisting that way, so it means… em… something's spinning…
Fuck it, I'll trust the human warning. I scamper back down in the basement and call the dogs into my room. It's not supposed to be a bedroom — no windows — but where fire makes it a hazard, in a bad storm, it's the safest place in the house.
Rain comes pounding down on the roof, and my heart is pounding. I'm not scared, but I hate things I can't control. It's why I never let Germany go to Bath & Bodyworks by himself. He doesn't know what my nose will like! In the darkness, I'm hugging Aster and telling her she's a brave girl, like he does.
My phone dings, and I jump again. It's from Germany.
«Are you in the basement with the dogs?»
«Yes.»
«I am taking shelter at the mall. They have me in a very cramped personnel corridor. How are the dogs?»
«Fine.»
«50 more people just piled in. The lights are flickering.»
«Just come home. You can drive in the rain.»
«It is recommended I stay in a safe place.»
«You'd light your ass hair on fire if it was recommended. If you're worried about the dogs, come home.»
He doesn't reply. Either he's worried about me and won't admit it, or he's just been crushed by a horde of people. At least the others will feel safer with Germany in their midst. I flop on my bed and let Gilbird make a tent out of my t-shirt. He's scared, too. Rain whips the house, and thunder shakes the earth below. A primal part of me is uneasy. Earth opposes sky. It's a theme found in folklore around the world.
Finally, I get a text back from Germany:
«The corridor is full. We have been moved into the Claire's.»
«Oh, good. Ask if they do rim studs there.»
«Sure. Do you want me to stop at the B&BW?»
«You've come so far. When you make sarcasms, I want to cry out of happiness.»
«It's not impossible. It's just harder to understand.»
«Do you need me to pick you up?»
«No, I'm staying here.»
«In Claire's.»
«I'm in B&BW now.»
«You piece of shit. Don't you dare think of buying anything without letting me smell it first.»
«We're under a tornado warning.»
«I'm coming over there.»
I toss my phone under the pillow. Moving from store to store may work for Germany's houndstooth brain, and it may make for an excellent story, but a nation needs the guts to go out in the rain, and that applies to both of us. This is a test. We have to pass it together.
All three dogs and Gilbird are in my room. If they'll be scared with no one home, I'll just suspend their animation. I pat each one on the head and squeeze my fingers around the atoms, locking them in place.
"Bleibt."
The animals fall over like dolls. Entropy is frozen in its tracks. Their bodies, minds, and spirits won't be destroyed by anything, natural or supernatural, until I unfreeze them.
Then I bound up the stairs, snatching my Prussian blue hoodie from the couch and throwing it on. Always good to fly with an extra layer. I don't want to catch cold! Or maybe that's just the old me talking.
One look outside gives me the creeps. I lock the door behind me and stow the key in the mailbox. Any metal on me will attract electricity.
"This is a stupid idea, Prussia," my voice says, but I don't hear it. There's something in me that makes me different. The P Factor, if you will. The thing that makes people stare and look down on me and call me a nutjob. It's like this morbid fascination. This energy of pure chaos that spins inside me like an extra chakra and makes me totally unique in the grand scheme of the cosmos. I want to ascend into those black clouds and dare them to strike me. Nation nature hates it, but there's a power hidden in my bones that tells me I'll survive. I'm inhuman. I'm un-nation. Self-actualization is bullshit. My passport tells me who I am, and that's that. It's what I do that determines my legacy for ages to come.
My head goes light. My blood starts to fizz. I feel my feet leaving the ground as that spacey force lifts me higher and higher. My hoodie's flapping in the wind, and my poofy hair goes wild at the static. I zip up the front and shove cold hands in my pockets, willing myself up to the heavens.
Mist kisses my skin. My hoodie's warm, but it's instantly soaked by the rain and vapor cascading down on my form. The wind toys with me, tossing me left and right, and I'm suddenly high enough to dodge lightning bolts as they fork through endless gray.
My eyes adjust, and I feel the zing of static coursing through my body. A vein of charged electrons five thousand degrees Celsius nearly pops me through the stomach before I jump and glide to the right. I throw myself into a horizontal corkscrew and shoot through rings of glittering light. My fingers are sparking. My hair is smoking. My earthborn heart is digging its way through my chest. But still I'm alive, flying through the dark and the storm. I wrap my hood around chilled ears and float right through a spinning squall. My muscles are gonna be so sore tomorrow! But maybe before my workout, I won't have to stretch!
Lightning above and below. I backflip over the blue-orange strings and end in freefall over the city of Bonn. My muscles all relax, and I accelerate toward the streets. Closer. Closer. Wind in my face, telling me I'm alive. Blood in my fingers, telling me I'm ALIVE! Mini lightning bolts crackling and sparkling all over my hair and hoodie and pants, telling me I. AM. ALIVE! In a split second, I flip myself upside down and curl my body inward, channeling every bit of electromagnetic pulse into my fingertips.
Then I splay my fingers, and a pink bolt of lightning shoots from my palm, striking a hole right through the cloud I fell from. The resulting CRACKLE-BOOM is so loud I can feel my bones resonating with the earth's crust below. World has struck back against sky. Prussia has waged war on the Gods and made his point.
I catch myself on a cushion of air outside the mall and land safely with my fists on the ground. I've won the battle, but I still want to hug the earth. My heart is re-synchronizing with the convection of red hot magma fifty kilometers beneath my feet. But all I can feel is the adrenaline making me jittery. I stumble on into the place just as another sheet of rain rips at my back.
I'm told to shelter in a certain personnel corridor, but my contacts have washed out in the rain, and one bloody-eyed look at the little muscle man lets me pass on unmolested to the Bath & Bodyworks. Here I find Germany huddled in the corner, with his legs tucked under him and his hands covering the back of his neck like a scared elementary student.
I bend down and grab his shoulders. "Guess who!"
"FUCK YOU!" He shrieks, turning over and seizing me by the front of my hoodie. A second later, and I'm kissing the floor, a large meaty hand keeping my neck from rising.
"Hey, Brohaus. You scared without me? No one else in the mall is hunching up like a kindergartener."
"It's a safety precaution."
"The gods are testing us, Luddy. I flew through the storm to get here. You have to fly with me back home."
"You flew through…" He lifts his head and lets me sit up straight. Strings of hair are plastered to my forehead, and now I realize just how heavy and wet my clothes are. "You didn't seriously…"
"I did. Now come on, I'm getting you home. Groceries in the car? We can get them later."
I tug on his wrist, but he stays solid where he sits. One monumental wrenching, and he's up on his feet. And now's when the mall employees have to watch one crazy-eyed albino man dragging a heavyweight wrestler behind him all the way to the parking lot. Right above us is the wall cloud. It's so majestic! I want to challenge it. I will win.
"All right, let's go home! You and me!"
Germany protests, but I float up in the air and seize his wrists. With a little magicky action, I swap his mass with that of a soggy marshmallow on the sidewalk, and up he comes, nesting safely in my arms like a good Luddy Lane. (I never liked superhero movies. Always seemed like all their powers and muscles were compensating for something.)
"Prussia. Put me down."
We rise higher into the air. I feel the static prickling my skin again. The little bolts gather on my hoodie. Germany squeezes my arms until his nails draw blood.
"Prussia. Brother. This is not fun. I don't want to fly home. I want you to put me down—"
"But the gods are testing us!"
"What gods!? What gods this time!? God God, or cartoon Christopher Lloyd and his fucking vibewaves!?"
I hover for an instant. Germany's shaking in my arms. He can feel the disconnect. There's no iron core burning and spinning beneath his feet. Germany is iron. Germany… should not be up here.
I float down and place him safely next to his BMW before crawling in the passenger's seat. Germany gets in the other side, then hides his face in his hands.
"Ya need a minute?"
"I need a minute. Yes. Just give me a minute. I'm recalibrating."
"Are you mad at me?"
"I'm the younger brother. You being an idiot is none of my fault."
"That's what I like to hear."
"You are an idiot, though."
The rain splatters down on the windshield. I tried. But Germany's Germany. Risks and adventures aren't his thing. He'll take his passport at face value and continue onward, thinking nothing of a legacy or reputation to attach to his name. Perhaps sometime in the past, he did, but he's more mature now. I like to think he's mature anyway.
But I'm Prussia. Maturity is just another factor in the wind.
Germany starts the engine and drives off into the storm. He'll pass the test his own way.
~N~
Based on a thing that actually happened. (My family did not go into the personnel corridor. It was way too cramped in there and a huge horde was coming to squeeze in. So we drove right along with the storm all the way home.)
Updated by Syntax-N FanFiction . Net August 22nd, 2020. To the actual bunker-dwellers and the kids who have to be college students but also empty the dishwasher, I salute you. Don't repost.