And then of all the worse luck, two guards tripped over and crashed into him. It had been as if a giant hand had crashed them together harshly. America fumbled for the knife as he nearly dropped it, turning around to stare at the guards when they stared back and began yelling at him.
Damn it! America slammed his elbow into the first soldier’s stomach and then tried to reach Russia, if only to let him know he was there and he wouldn’t be hanged. But the soldier grabbed America by his middle and hauled America back until he found himself lying face first in the red dirt, a sword to the back of his neck.
The rest of the people in the nightmare continued to go on, for it was only if America physically touched him that they would notice him. Russia was shoved forward as the new corpses were checked for their pulses and then thrown into a cart. The two soldiers with swords at his neck were yelling something, but all America could hear was buzzing as his blood boiled.
He was not watching Russia be hanged.
America could not dart over to him though, not with the soldiers bearing down over him. Spitting the dirt that had gotten into his mouth, America watched as one of the soldiers called for something, America couldn’t catch what exactly, and glanced back to Russia.
They had taken down the last body, and the nooses were being re-tied. The rope swung in the nearly stale air; burning a deep orange as the setting sun began to cast it’s rays upon it. The next seven were pushed forward by the guards and the crowed began to jeer. Several people turned away and leaked back into the shadows the builds casted, their eyes dark and postures sullen. Russia had nearly bitten the soldier who had tried to remove the scarf around his neck, and a red welt crossed his jaw from the punch he had received. Violet eyes were dark, and America could tell that his jaw was clenched tightly.
Why wasn’t his government protecting him? Didn’t they know he was there? Didn’t his people feel him? America twisted from under the rough hands that pulled him upwards and cracked his own head into the soldiers jaw, ignoring the pain as he shot off into the crowd. The ruckus that followed behind him must have been from the other soldiers pushing people aside. America ducked low and continued to weave through the spectators looking towards the key to freedom he had spotted before.
Already Russia and the six other men were lined up, the ropes around their necks fitted and the reading of their wrong doings commenced. America could hear the angry shouts grow louder behind him, and a large heavy hand fell on his shoulder to stop him. Snarling, America ripped himself out of the hold and sprinted the last short distance towards the lantern hanging innocently nearby.
His fingers brushed against the thick glass and metal lantern, quickly plucking it off the pole and chucked it onto the wooden platform.
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Here and Now 23
(Anonymous) 2011-06-19 04:28 am (UTC)(link)And then of all the worse luck, two guards tripped over and crashed into him. It had been as if a giant hand had crashed them together harshly. America fumbled for the knife as he nearly dropped it, turning around to stare at the guards when they stared back and began yelling at him.
Damn it! America slammed his elbow into the first soldier’s stomach and then tried to reach Russia, if only to let him know he was there and he wouldn’t be hanged. But the soldier grabbed America by his middle and hauled America back until he found himself lying face first in the red dirt, a sword to the back of his neck.
The rest of the people in the nightmare continued to go on, for it was only if America physically touched him that they would notice him. Russia was shoved forward as the new corpses were checked for their pulses and then thrown into a cart. The two soldiers with swords at his neck were yelling something, but all America could hear was buzzing as his blood boiled.
He was not watching Russia be hanged.
America could not dart over to him though, not with the soldiers bearing down over him. Spitting the dirt that had gotten into his mouth, America watched as one of the soldiers called for something, America couldn’t catch what exactly, and glanced back to Russia.
They had taken down the last body, and the nooses were being re-tied. The rope swung in the nearly stale air; burning a deep orange as the setting sun began to cast it’s rays upon it. The next seven were pushed forward by the guards and the crowed began to jeer. Several people turned away and leaked back into the shadows the builds casted, their eyes dark and postures sullen. Russia had nearly bitten the soldier who had tried to remove the scarf around his neck, and a red welt crossed his jaw from the punch he had received. Violet eyes were dark, and America could tell that his jaw was clenched tightly.
Why wasn’t his government protecting him? Didn’t they know he was there? Didn’t his people feel him? America twisted from under the rough hands that pulled him upwards and cracked his own head into the soldiers jaw, ignoring the pain as he shot off into the crowd. The ruckus that followed behind him must have been from the other soldiers pushing people aside. America ducked low and continued to weave through the spectators looking towards the key to freedom he had spotted before.
Already Russia and the six other men were lined up, the ropes around their necks fitted and the reading of their wrong doings commenced. America could hear the angry shouts grow louder behind him, and a large heavy hand fell on his shoulder to stop him. Snarling, America ripped himself out of the hold and sprinted the last short distance towards the lantern hanging innocently nearby.
His fingers brushed against the thick glass and metal lantern, quickly plucking it off the pole and chucked it onto the wooden platform.