I wasn't supposed to be here.
Was that the way to say this was an accident? Or would I be fighting along side my courageous brother and father in an effort to keep life worth living? How would I know who was truly the evil here, was it them? Or was it us?
I was eighteen when I was drafted to the enemy lines near Victoria, just in 1915 right after the Lusitania sank. Will people know what happened? That those so called 'enemy aliens' sunk that ship full of poor, innocent people? How would the world truly know? Yet, how was I supposed to know that I could die out here any day. The large red maple leaf stuck to my arm like an omen, haunting me too, making me work even harder than before to keep fighting for my homeland.
I missed so many people or places from my hometown, but my father always told me I'll be able to return someday, me, him, and my brother. That we would be one happy family again, that nobody was going to get hurt, that nobody would be lying in this carnage right now thinking his last words. That nobody would be staring at the sky, pain circling all around him as his breaths felt slower and much more harder to take.
I surely didn't see this coming. It was almost comical, for I would have assumed Alfred would have taken the fall first, him being so eager to attack and more energetic.
He made it, though, the lucky bastard. Him and dad, both shooting through and managing more enforcements. Maybe if I wasn't on the front lines, I could have made it, but I felt inclined to do so today of all days. Nobody had died yet, as though it would seem to me anyway. I would be fine, I wouldn't really be dying.
I was so wrong. We didn't know they were here already, we thought it would take them days, weeks, hell maybe even months. But they were here, and the piercing sound of shots were heard as I fell. Screams ensured as I felt my brother shake me roughly with tears streaming down his face as father hastily pulled him away, pushing back towards the trucks.
I closed my eyes and waited, I didn't know for what, but I didn't expect so much silence after that. Had I died?
But I didn't, well, not yet I believe, because that's when I heard him. My eyes opened to the dark, dark sky that day. I was alive! Miraculously, I was going to be okay, I could be, I could-
Yet, the pain was too much to bare, and I felt the blood emerging from my chest as it seeped through my clothes, my helmet deeming useless now. I weakly reached up to take it off, my cough splattered with blood as I tried to look around at my surroundings.
I didn't see him at first, just heard the sounds of faraway gun fire and the smell of iron and gun powder, but I heard an odd laugh afterwards. My gun was long gone, so I tried reaching for a stick to try to protect myself with.
"Ksesesesese~" he laughed, coughing weakly as well, reaching out to touch my cold hand.
"Zhere's no point, trust me, und zhere isn't much of a zhreat here. Zhey took mine too, zhey were truly 'enemy aliens', how you people called us anyway." The German finished, slumping over a bit as his hand became just a few inches away from mine.
I felt calm then, and I sort of realized I wasn't angry at who this man was supposed to be, I wasn't angry at all.
"W-what's your name?" I whispered, my lips chapped as I shakily lifted my head to meet his already amazingly red eyes.
"Does it matter?" He sighed, the trickle of blood falling slightly from the corner of his mouth.
"I'd l-like to know the man I'm dying beside t-today." I murmured back.
"Gilbert, und this man is vell on his vay too. But you? You're very young, you shouldn't be here." He said, pulling himself just a tad closer towards me, as much as he could muster anyway.
"My n-name is Matthew, and no, no I s-shouldn't be. Neither should y-you, Gil." I smirked a tad, a new and last nickname he would ever hear.
"Matzhew? Zhat's a very French und boring name, I like Birdie." He snickered, his voice faltering with every breath.
"W-why....why that of all names?" I twisted uncomfortably, trying to turn towards him too.
"Look at my band, I'm not just your average German, I'm Prussian, und...I sort of have a zhing for birds." He replied sheepishly, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment.
"I d-don't mind...it's...it's getting cold don't you think?" I mumbled.
"Yes...I'm getting cold." He agreed, opening his eyes, both half lidded and tired.
"Your eyes are...are very red." I smiled.
"Und yours are violet. I wouldn't mind dying to such beautiful eyes." He replied.
We both weakly linked hands that day, both cold and shaken. With as much strength as we had, we managed to turn towards each other, keeping ourselves warm and close. My muscles were tired and the blood stopped awhile ago now, the wound still fresh and bloody as ever.
His eyes were still half closed, but I still felt his pulse and his breath on my face then.
He squeezes my hand once before opening his eyes completely now, and I knew then this would be the last time I would talk to anybody, much less somebody very beautiful.
"Ve'll be okay, right...right Birdie?" He whispered, his hand becoming limp in mine.
"O...oui...we...we will.." I managed to reply, before mine became limp in his.
We will be okay.
