The Center Cannot Hold (1/?)
anonymous
November 28 2009, 08:03:17 UTC
Not the original potential!anon, though I do hope they post as well, since, from the sounds of it, I'm going in a different direction with thisNot the original potential!anon, though I do hope they post as well, since, from the sounds of it, I'm going in a different direction with this
Dimly, Canada registers that it is raining and cold. It’s a strange thing to feel, because he’s felt worse, weathered so much more in the recent weeks, months, years previous. He’s marched through fields of snow, draped the pristine white cloak of blizzards across his back like armor, crossed rivers that burned with the frigid water of dark winter nights, and still, somehow, the stiffness of his hands, the awkward lock of his finger on the trigger of his rifle, has never felt so pronounced.
Canada had never expected staring down England would have left him feeling so frozen.
“I’m not backing down, England,” he manages past his blue-tinged lips and the knot forming in his throat, voice louder and stronger than it has been in his entire life. He revels
( ... )
The Center Cannot Hold (2/?)
anonymous
November 28 2009, 08:06:07 UTC
Green eyes look into his own, piercing, searching him and his determination, calculating and frightening in their shadowed familiarity. He almost stops breathing when England drops his rifle to the ground, head bowed and fisted hands quivering at his sides.
There’s a whooshing in his chest, and his heart leaps, because finally -finally!- after so much fighting, so many lives lost, so much red-stained snow and hastily-dug graves and hopeless nights of prayer, it’s over, finally, finally over.
And then Canada hears him speak.
“Then shoot me.”
Startled, he looks up to see England, smirking visage and amusement in his eyes. “W-what?”
“If I heard correctly, you said you would shoot me, if that’s what it would take for me to hand over Alfred, correct?” England repeats, one prominent eyebrow raised in questioning challenge. At Canada’s stiff-necked affirmative, he continues. “Well, you have my troops cornered, but I’d sooner die then lose Alfred to you. So do it. Shoot me.”
Canada swallows shallowly, tongue heavy-thick in his mouth. He
( ... )
The Center Cannot Hold (3/?)
anonymous
November 28 2009, 08:09:16 UTC
Before he can even try to decipher the feeling, his rifle is grabbed, whiteredbrown gloves tugging, wrestling it out of his grip and tossing it to the side. Instinctively, Canada lashes out. He lands la solid kick in the man’s side that sends him rolling off his back, lending Canada enough time to scramble up, hands-and-knees-to-feet and whirl about to meet the gaze of painfully familiar blue eyes.
Suddenly, the expression on England’s face makes sense.
“Alfred?” Canada asks, nonplussed. He recognizes the face, of course, knows the coloration almost more than his own, the tanned skin and golden hair and eyes like two stolen fragments of summer sky. But that familiarity seems shadow-like next to the equally familiar redcoat his twin has donned.
“Yeah, Matt,” he answers with a wry grin. He stands, and Canada can only draw breath and watch the scarlet fabric flutter around stained white pants, feeling short of breath and caught between screaming and tears. He’s worked so hard, fought with all of his strength, at the expense of his
( ... )
Re: The Center Cannot Hold (3/?)
anonymous
January 6 2010, 09:48:45 UTC
Oh geez, anon, this fill is so intriguing. Normally, I dislike "what-ifs" regarding Canada's bid for independence, since I actually find the way it turned out in real life to be admirable (in a terribly civilized sort of way). This story, however, got me thinking about the dynamics between early Canada and America and what it would have taken to incite a rebellion up here as well.
The pacing, including the scene ending, seems fine to me, and I like that you'd been keeping both Matthew and Alfred quite in character despite the circumstances.
If you ever want to come back to this, authoranon, more would be great.
It's Canada who ends up rebelling against England instead of America. So basically everything America did ends up with Canada doing~
Bonus: England does something so America can't rebel
BonusII: CANxUS
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Dimly, Canada registers that it is raining and cold. It’s a strange thing to feel, because he’s felt worse, weathered so much more in the recent weeks, months, years previous. He’s marched through fields of snow, draped the pristine white cloak of blizzards across his back like armor, crossed rivers that burned with the frigid water of dark winter nights, and still, somehow, the stiffness of his hands, the awkward lock of his finger on the trigger of his rifle, has never felt so pronounced.
Canada had never expected staring down England would have left him feeling so frozen.
“I’m not backing down, England,” he manages past his blue-tinged lips and the knot forming in his throat, voice louder and stronger than it has been in his entire life. He revels ( ... )
Reply
Green eyes look into his own, piercing, searching him and his determination, calculating and frightening in their shadowed familiarity. He almost stops breathing when England drops his rifle to the ground, head bowed and fisted hands quivering at his sides.
There’s a whooshing in his chest, and his heart leaps, because finally -finally!- after so much fighting, so many lives lost, so much red-stained snow and hastily-dug graves and hopeless nights of prayer, it’s over, finally, finally over.
And then Canada hears him speak.
“Then shoot me.”
Startled, he looks up to see England, smirking visage and amusement in his eyes. “W-what?”
“If I heard correctly, you said you would shoot me, if that’s what it would take for me to hand over Alfred, correct?” England repeats, one prominent eyebrow raised in questioning challenge. At Canada’s stiff-necked affirmative, he continues. “Well, you have my troops cornered, but I’d sooner die then lose Alfred to you. So do it. Shoot me.”
Canada swallows shallowly, tongue heavy-thick in his mouth. He ( ... )
Reply
Before he can even try to decipher the feeling, his rifle is grabbed, whiteredbrown gloves tugging, wrestling it out of his grip and tossing it to the side. Instinctively, Canada lashes out. He lands la solid kick in the man’s side that sends him rolling off his back, lending Canada enough time to scramble up, hands-and-knees-to-feet and whirl about to meet the gaze of painfully familiar blue eyes.
Suddenly, the expression on England’s face makes sense.
“Alfred?” Canada asks, nonplussed. He recognizes the face, of course, knows the coloration almost more than his own, the tanned skin and golden hair and eyes like two stolen fragments of summer sky. But that familiarity seems shadow-like next to the equally familiar redcoat his twin has donned.
“Yeah, Matt,” he answers with a wry grin. He stands, and Canada can only draw breath and watch the scarlet fabric flutter around stained white pants, feeling short of breath and caught between screaming and tears. He’s worked so hard, fought with all of his strength, at the expense of his ( ... )
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I very much enjoyed this first segment, writer!anon and I am very much eager to read more *_*
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GAAAH~ Can't wait to see where you go with this now~!
America refusing independence~! Ohh~ This is awesome!!
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Poor Mattie...
Hmmm. Would the AnonWriter be interested in writing a sequal to this, perhaps? I would love to read how things turned out.
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The pacing, including the scene ending, seems fine to me, and I like that you'd been keeping both Matthew and Alfred quite in character despite the circumstances.
If you ever want to come back to this, authoranon, more would be great.
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