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Entry tags:
Dream ☭ № 1
Warnings: Violence, weird portrayal of history
Dream Effect: Anyone watching will feel chilled to the bone by freezing cold. Nothing less, nothing more.
Dream Effect: Anyone watching will feel chilled to the bone by freezing cold. Nothing less, nothing more.
- The country of Russia is vast and grand. Though the lands are difficult to farm, the people work hard to accomplish what they can in order to achieve livable conditions. Yet portrayed here is none of the fruition of this laborious work. There is only black and white: charred remains of fields and buildings covered by a thin blanket of snow.
Troops of the Grande Armée trudge through these barren lands, led by Napoleon Bonaparte and France. They look famished, and with good reason: no food has been left for them in the cities they've managed to conquer.
A figure sits alone on the ground in the middle of the road, his back facing the army. Napoleon's men come to a halt and France himself is sent forward to investigate. The figure lazily turns his head as he sees the fellow country approach.
"Privyet," Russia greets warmly. Cuts, bruises and even burns are visible on his face and hands, yet he smiles regardless. In his hands, he holds a withering sunflower. He's been plucking the petals off one by one.
"What are you doing here?" France demands. "We're leaving this horrible place. Get out of our way!"
Russia simply looks back to his flower and continues plucking petals. "He will kill you..." Pluck. "He will kill you not..." Pluck. "Ah..." He looks back up. "Tell me, if petal breaks, does it count for two?"
France takes a step back, clearly terrified by Russia's childish actions. Though he doesn't understand what Russia is talking about, he feels that something is very wrong. Looking back to see Napoleon and his men, he waves, forcing a feeble smile to assure them that everything is all right. Turning to face Russia again, he finds that they are no longer alone. It's difficult to make out, but a specter of sorts appears to be hovering behind Russia, his arms resting on the country's shoulders.
"You've met General Winter before, da?"
"Who? What? No! What the hell is this?!" France is nearly tripping over his own feet as he retreats and runs back to the safety of his army, but it's too late. A fierce wind literally blows him off his feet and continues on toward the army. Without any warning, a blizzard has started up. The screaming of the men and panicked neighing of the horses are drowned out by Russia's maniacal laughter. As France turns around one last time, he sees the faint outline of General Winter in the midst of the storm.
Russia lets the remains of the sunflower fly off into the storm.
"So cold, every year..."
Pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, he holds his arms and walks away.
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