Post by North Korea on Oct 16, 2011 12:52:59 GMT -6
[/size]Silence just keeps screaming back at me
The ones I love are lost in memories[/i]
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September 1950
Almost there.
Almost.
He was almost there.
And then he had to appear.
The brother who he had not seen for five years, who he had thought was as good as dead. In fact, as much as he hated to admit it, he had forgotten about him. Scratch that, he tried, so hard, to forget about him. And this war made that successful. He had forgotten him, for a moment. Focused all his energy on conquering the whole peninsula, forgot one moment that it was his brother's troops who he fought and had been fighting for the past few months.
Until he had to show up.
And once again, be reminded of the fact that he has a blood brother, who he is fighting against right now.
But his resolve did not melt, not even a bit. He had learned, for those five years, how to completely shut out his mind and heart. He was a ruthless killing machine, whose eyes showed no trace of emotion whenever he shot another person, whenever another body fell lifeless in front of him.
The peninsula will be his, no matter how much blood must be shed.
No matter whose blood must be shed.
And indeed, he didn't care at all. So it was his brother. So it has finally come to the stage where he fights him. So what.
He had a peninsula to conquer.
He was merely another obstruction in the way, another thing to get rid of.
And he raised his arm, gun pointed squarely at the other.
He hesitated, faltered, though only for a bit. His resolve was stronger than his emotions, if any, for his own blood brother.
And he fired.
Once.
And even though he was an expert marksman on the field, he knew he had missed the heart and shot the lung instead.
A little bit of humanity, perhaps? A subconscious reflex that told him that he really couldn't kill his own blood brother? Whatever it was, it made him miss.
Not that he really cared. He was as good as dead anyway.
And the peninsula was as good as his.
Biting his lower lip, his eyes soon glazed over once more as he turned his back and walked away, never once looking back to see.
Because he was afraid that if he looked back, he would run to his brother and make him falter in his resolve.
He couldn't allow that. Wouldn't allow that.
Kim Il-Sung is the only lawful leader of this peninsula, and he shall rule over it with an iron fist and a kind heart.
No one else, not even his own brother, would stop him from declaring Kim Il-Sung as the rightful, sole leader of the peninsula.
And he was going to make sure of that.
At least, that's what it appeared to be on the surface.
As soon as he got back to his own house, where he could at least enjoy being alone so he could brood over things and release some pent up emotions, he threw his cap over to the side and leaned against the door he had just closed, before sinking to a heap on the floor.
And before he knew it, he was sobbing.
Sobbing like he had never done before.
The brother he had tried so hard to forget. He had forgotten, so that it wouldn't be so painful. Why did he have to be out there? Why did he have to show up in the battlefield to fight? Why couldn't he have just stayed in his office, where he wouldn't see him and would probably never see him again?
Never meeting at all would have been a hundred, thousand, a million times better than having met in such circumstances.
For once, his resolve faltered. Was shooting his own blood brother really right, just so he could make sure Kim Il-Sung takes control of this peninsula?
He stared for a while at his gloved right hand, the dark material obviously stained with blood. The blood of people who were once his people, too. The blood of the people who he had shared a past with, who he had endured hardships with, people he had probably talked to and mingled with. People who were probably his former friends before he had disappeared five years ago, when he and his brother were forcefully separated.
And now, it was stained with the blood of his own brother.
Never in a million years would he have dreamed that things would turn out like this. He was living peacefully once day, with his brother, under the watchful eye of the beloved Empress Myeongsong. Until that dark day, when she was cruelly taken away from them, by none other than that Japanese devil himself, sent straight from hell.
How? How did things turn out like this? How did it turn out that he was so keen on accomplishing one thing, so consumed by it, that he would allow his hands to be marred and stained with the life-giving liquid of so many people that were once his people, of his own brother?
He was afraid. Afraid of what he's already become. And afraid of what he's going to become.
But there simply was no turning back now. He had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time, stopping now would have rendered all his previous efforts useless. Shooting his own brother would have been rendered useless. Killing his own people would have been useless. Submitting himself to Russia would have been useless.
He couldn't stop now, not after everything he's already done. He was a stone's throw from victory. A hair away from installing Kim Il-Sung as the sole and Great Leader of the Korean Peninsula. They were a noble sacrifice to the accomplishment of his mission.
He buried his face in his hands, the still-wet blood on them smearing on his face. He was bloody from head to toe, covered with his own blood and the blood of his former comrades who he had so mercilessly slain all in the name of Kim Il-Sung.
His resolve was still there, stronger than ever if possible.
He was going to succeed, no matter what.
But he really hoped his brother isn't dead.
Because if he died by his hands… he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
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And I wish that I could take back what was done
[/b]And I wish that I could take back what was done
You can only change the person you become[/center][/blockquote]
