The time was right. He could say something. He could finally say sorry, maybe beg for their broken friendship, maybe scream in anger and sorrow, maybe cry in despair, asking for one last chance. Broken. He broke it. The other man looked at him. Even though he was looking at the fallen man, his eyes were blurred by tears of both anger and sadness. He was tired, injured and hungry. He had no soul anymore _It was all gone, wasted from the constant warring and anger.
"Es tut mir leid....you understood me."
"You betrayed me,"
"I'm sorry."
"I trusted you,"
"I'm sorry."
"You hurt me,"
"I'm sorry."
"I loved you."
"I'm sorry....my..."
"I will never forgive you."-The huge man looked down at the pitiful sight. The man he stood over was on the ground, beaten and fatally injured. The USSR sighed and pulled his heavy overcoat off and laid it on the German beneath him. Third Reich smiled. A small glimmer of hope passed in his mind, maybe Soviet would actually save him, bring him back to health, and he could apologise...and they could finally fulfil their dreams. His blood soaked the Russians coat, and the pain multiplied, he too was not only freezing, but he hadn't slept or eaten in days. The campaign was the most important thing to him. Until it failed- and now he was at the mercy of the Soviet Union, whose mercy was beginning to ebb.
"Danke....danke schön...I haven't slept in days."
He looked up, giving USSR the most grateful look he could imagine. But his smile faltered, as he saw the sight above him. He tried to scream, or run or anything. But his every move was painful, and his throat dry. Those half-dead eyes looked at him, no mercy, warmth or love penetrated the dark green gaze, like an angry forest prepared to eat any brave hiker who dared venture in.
"I hope your dreams are sweet, then."
"Nein...Soviet...no need...please...."
Pain seared through his neck and head, as if his brain stopped cooperating, even though the man above did not move a muscle. Soviet did nothing, and no expression ever came on his face. He lifted his eyes to see his battle torn, weary, ever large territory. He had to see it suffer. He would change that. In the wind, the pines bowed in defeat, finally being able to do so after standing proudly on the borders for so long.
It was cold, a cold day for the month of May (That Rhymes) but to the Russian, it made no difference. He was already cold on the inside, and only certain people could thaw him deep enough. One of them, the one under him, just froze him over anew. The Third Reich realised his mistake too late, and rectifying it was almost impossible. His falter in confidence created a hole for the USSR to strike, and he did so, full of hate and anger. Third Reich's mind fell into a loop, and his thoughts circled like birds: Apology, hate of himself, Soviet, Apology, loathing, Germany, Germany, Germany. He did not dwell long on his son. For all he knew, Germany was dead. No remorse for that now. He couldn't even save his own skin, much rather anyone else's.
"I'm so sorry....I can change Soviet...I promise..."
"I will never forgive you,"
"I....I really can....I really do....please...."
"I will never forgive you,"
"Please...I'll do anything...torture me if you must....please,"
"I will never forgive you."
"Let....Let your anger out on me....make me your eternal servant....humiliate me....just..."
"No. I will not do that. No one deserves that. You. Don't. Deserve. My. Mercy."
"I know....I know...I'm sorry...Soviet....I...."
"We've gone too far. You hurt me way too many times. I have a boundary that you crossed and then you cut it open. How, how am I to let anyone cross it again?" USSR was now seething in silent anger. It should have already been done. Why was he being weak? This conversation shouldn't have happened. He let it slide. The Third Reich promised him, he said empty words and promises full of spider webs, and letters of a love that didn't exist. He left his needy family to follow a dead end cause, promising him riches, joy and a life he never had. No. It was all a lie. USSR wasn't loved as a child, nor as in adult, he created his world with his own hands and brain, and built his empire from his own sweat, blood and tears. Long and hard years swept over him, giving him a hard and lean stature, broad shoulders and a resilience to cold and heat and wind alike. What it didn't give him resilience to was love. He still fell for the touch, the word and the kindness. He should have been prepared, that some small little man would offer him that. Joy. Since he never felt it before, he was greedy for it. He tasted the sweet nectar of love, and wanted more and more of it. He wanted Reich to give him, and became blind to the manipulation that happened under his very face. Reich stabbed him at the last second, and the flow of truth came gushing out forcefully, after being caged for so long, and the harsh reality slapped USSR hard.
"I....I never knew...I am so sorry...."
"You aren't."
"Yes I am....I wanted to help you.....you just needed to let me in....."
"And destroy all my life's work? All of my life was spent on this land! Just to give it away?" His scream echoed a cross the plains. Nobody was around them. USSR made sure that his citizens were far from the monster and himself. So he could speak freely, without a mask of apathy.
"Из за тебя, Рейх, я превратился в лицемера. Но ничего, ничего, я все исправлю по честному." He spoke slowly, so the German understood his every word. Third Reich, unfortunately, did, and moaned apologetically, trying to elicit some mercy from the tall Russian over him. The wind picked up, and the brown earflaps of USSR's ushanka billowed in the gale. USSR trailed his dark green gaze over the German, over his land, and then sighed. He did so very often, even his own children noticed. How nice.
"I....I just wanted you to know....I never meant to hurt you.....just...."
"...."
"Just....I thought.....you needed my support.....and I would give it to you...." Third Reich knew he was stretching the truth too far. Yes, he wanted to help Soviet, but it never crossed his mind that the mighty Russian would need support. To Soviet, support, was a dirty word. It was a twisted word, that he never uttered, and never let anyone in his presence say it either. Third Reich was crossing the line.
"Es tut mir leid....Soviet, I.....you....you helped me...."
"Yes, I did. I will help you now too."
"I'm sorry....I'm so sorry....."
"You betrayed me."
"I...."
"You took what mattered most from me."
"....."
"I put my trust with you, I gave you more trust than I give to myself, to God."
"I...."
USSR continued without giving the German a chance to say a word. It was all gunpowder and gasoline layered under explosives inside of him, and Third Reich lit a match to start the fire.
"You hurt me where I thought nobody could. I let you into the titanium vault with no windows and doors, and you unsheathed your sword and scratched the walls with your symbol."
"Soviet....please stop...." Third Reich felt sick, as if he drank the whole ocean. Soviet was digging close to the truth, and he was getting uncomfortable. The tiny needles in his stomach became knife jabs, and even though the bleeding of the wounds became a trickle, it began to harden to the sides of Soviet's coat. His mouth became drier than it was before, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, all the saliva drying up as he panted from exhaustion.
"I loved you more than my own, and you tried to kill them."
"No...Soviet...."
"I loved you, Reich." he said through clenched teeth. "Past perfect tense. Loved."
"I'M SORRY!....ah...." His screams befell the land, and he was getting frustrated at Soviet as ever. What did Soviet want? He apologised already, but he was in no condition to go on to fix his actions at the moment. His eyes were threatening to close, from the lack of sleep and from the tiredness of fighting. The muddy and beaten earth beneath him felt colder than ever and the rocks unearthed from the soil poked his skin through the relatively thin fabric of his uniform.
"Didn't you hear me the first time?" USSR sighed once more, this time with a sense of need, and looked at Third Reich for a long moment. Poor man, he thought. So much potential, but so much uncertainty. Their pasts looked the same, abusive, struggling, and dreadful. But their futures were different, and so we're their ideologies. Both on two radical ends of the spectrum, as they say opposites attract, they came together to try to neutralize the mixture of anger and mistrust. But the acid ate away at the metal, and the alkaline submerged the acid. There was no more time to dwell on the past, to fix the mistakes, or to mend all broken promises. The crime has a punishment.
"Soviet....I loved you too....please...I'm sorry...."
"I will never forgive you." With that phrase, quick as lightning striking the ground, USSR withdrew a compact pistol from his belt and shot the German through the chest. Death was instant. Third Reich didn't have time to even scream. As soon as he did so, the wind died down. The clouds let some rays of the sun penetrate the bloody landscape. USSR kicked the body once, huffed, then knelt down to face it. He smeared some of the blood onto the gun, and then put it into its holster. He took his brown ushanka off, and placed it on the ground. Closing his eyes, he tilted his chin up towards the sky. He inhaled deeply, and then let out a sorrowful cry that sounded like a sad melody, that started out low and deep and loud and then progressed to a higher pitch, decreasing the volume, finally ending at the highest note he could muster, ending softly and bringing his head down to his chest. The last notes of the war echoed in the distance. His mourning has ended. He took a stone, and placed it at the head of the dead German's body.
"You have taught me, nevertheless, a valuable lesson my dear, Reich. I shall, from this day forward, never trust the likes of anyone. Taking your life meant that you took my heart and soul with you, up to the afterlife, or wherever you are going. No life exists after death, and my heart and soul exist no more as well. May you sleep well my love, and your dreams be as clear as the August sky. I do not wish you any evil or harm as you wished upon me. It is not nice to speak bad of the dead, nor of your departed loved ones."
The rays of the sun fell on to the pair, Alive and dead. The warmth of the sun did not cut farther than his skin, and do not give the pleasant feeling of happiness it did in his childhood. The eyes of Third Reich began to dim, and USSR could now clearly see that the German's eyes weren't pure black after all. They were a sort of deep brown with a slight orange, like logs set on fire at night, when they are reduced to embers. It was captivating, until the glassy mist swept over them, making it more of a smoky brown, until it existed no more. USSR gently closed the fallen's eyes, to make the impression of sleep, patted his head affectionately, smiled a bit, and then stood up, shook his own head. Putting his ushanka back on, without looking back at the body, he set off, to search for his army, his people, and his family, all waiting patiently for his arrival, to celebrate the victory over the monster of the west. But deep down inside, USSR would be mourning, and rethinking his actions, and hitting his own head for not saying things that should be said. But he couldn't dwell on it any longer. There were more important battles to fight, protocols to discuss, and treaties to be signed. The past should not be swelled on, or the hole of despair and remorse becomes deeper and deeper, until he wouldn't be able to dig himself out. He wouldn't look back, he wouldn't trust anyone, and he would calculate ever move carefully. But one peek back wouldn't hurt, would it?
"I will never forgive you, Reich....
....you broke me."