Chasing Liberty // Countryhumans North Korea fanfiction

Purple Speeches and Black Smoke

   South stood on the stairs of the National Assembly Hall before the people of Seoul, wishing they would look at him.

    They didn’t. The crowd was silent, watching as General Douglas MacArthur and Syngman Rhee walked down the stairs to stand before the press. The American was leading Rhee by the arm, his fingers dug into the sleeve of his usual smoky grey suit. Unlike usual, MacArthur was lacking his iconic field marshal’s hat with its non-regulation gold embroidery. It made him look… smaller. Older.

     The only sound was the flash and shutter of cameras as they photographed the two old men and their countries, the press assembled to hear what they had to say about the liberation of Seoul.

    South scanned the audience. No one was looking at him. There were so many foreigners- soldiers, reporters, photographers. Not a single one spared even a glance for the Korean country. All of them had their eyes glued to the Countryhuman at his side. The Korean citizens clad in white had their eyes firmly on the cracked stones of the plaza, avoiding looking up, as if the police on the edges might spring at them if given the chance.

    South pitied them. They probably still believed the Communists’ lies, just like he had. North’s lies.

    There had been graves in Taejon, alright. But America’s soldiers said they had been left by the Communists as they retreated.

     Maybe North hadn’t known. Maybe the only thing he had been lying about had been seeing the graves himself. Maybe he had just taken his government on their word in a bid to change South’s mind.

   South shuddered, thinking about how close he had been to letting himself be swayed, taken in by the Reds’ propaganda and turned into a puppet. Good thing America had been there to set his head straight.

    They would need to set everyone in Seoul straight, too, like the his friend had suggested. Undoing all of his brother’s brainwashing and exposing the truth so they wouldn’t be so scared of them.

    Gunfire sounded in the distance, not the rattle of combat, but singular shots. The smell of char and smoke hung thick over the city, black columns rising for the sky.

    How long did it take to climb down a set of stairs, for God’s sake?

    As MacArthur finally finished his descent and stepped up to the podium, South saw one of the foreign reporters pale, as if the sight of the American general terrified him. No, repulsed him. His features twisted with nausea, a gut reaction, like he was witnessing some sort of monster step up to the microphone instead of an old man with thinning hair.

    South got it, honestly. When MacArthur had flown in to gloat over recapturing Seoul (not that he had done much from over in Japan), South had probably had the same look on his face.

    As Douglas MacArthur released South’s… As he released Rhee to remove his aviators and grip the lectern, tears gleamed in his eyes, his voice wavering as he recited the Lord's prayer. South bowed his head, murmuring along with America at his side.

    “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

     Gunshots, slow and deliberate. Those assembled were quiet still, eyes averted. The American flag that had been hoisted over Seoul flapped in the wind, a sound like a whip cracking. His skin burned like the city. South closed his eyes.

    MacArthur started his speech and the Korean’s gaze returned to the foreign reporter, who still had that aghast look on his face. It was fascinating how ill the sight of the man made him. Or maybe it was his speech that was doing it now. The American had the habit of rambling on in sentences that should have ended ten words ago.