Oneshots, (Outdated)

Birds of a Feather - Memories

As the Fourth Reich leaves and the birdcage Poland is in begins its climb to the ceiling, Poland can't help but wonder if this one is truly different.

"Germany seems a lot nicer than the Second and Third Reich. But still he could be just as bad as them, or worse." He mumbles to himself as he watches the tri colored country leave.

Poland's dislocated wings throb as he lays down on his stomach, fighting the urge to eat the rest of the disgusting bird seed, due to immense hunger. I must save it for as long as possible. Who knows when the Fourth Reich will come back. Gah! I hate being dependent on people!

Poland looks at his bony hands and sighs before covering his head with his arms and dozing off into a nightmare fueled slumber.

"Be careful Prince Poland! Be back by noon!" His mother calls over her shoulder as she walks back into the treehouse where they lived. A young Poland probably around the age of 7 runs down the drawbridge connecting the trees together in their small kingdom.

Spreading his little white wings he leaps off of the tree and glides to the forest floor where he begins his adventure. Giggling he runs as fast as his little legs will take him to his secret spot, a clearing covered in flowers.

He spends a while picking and smelling the flowers and arranging them into a flower crown for him to wear, with a big smile he holds his arms out like wings and runs around the clearing having the time of his life.

A deep chuckle which sends chills down his spine causes Poland to freeze. Turning around he comes face to face with a fully grown country, Young Poland looks at this newcomer. Not seeing any wings is the first warning sign.

This newcomer is not from his fathers kingdom, therefore he is a stranger. But the question is how'd he get past all the guards from here to the edge of the forest, surely one of them would have stopped him.

"Who are you?" Poland asks

"I am Imperial Germany, but you can call me Reichtangle or The Second Reich." He gets on one knee and offers his hand to shake. "And you are?" He asks in a smooth voice as sweet as honey.

"Poland." the boy responds, grabbing Reichtangle's hand and shaking it. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for the prince, because I have a special gift to give him!"

"Well you're in luck Mr, because I am Price Poland of Warsaw." The stranger smiles before reaching out from behind him and pulls out a blowgun with one dart inside it ready to be shot.

He aims it at Poland's chest before blowing a puff of air into the weapon sending the dart flying into Poland.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Now tell me, can you fly yet, little one?" Reichtangle asks, completely ignoring Poland's question. Poland shakes his head no.

He suddenly begins to feel quite tired, the rest of the memory is a blur but he distinctly remembers being carried before passing out. When he comes to, he wakes up in a large bird cage. Getting to his feet he walks over to the edge of the cage and peeks down, only to find he's about 50 feet off of the ground.

"Hello?" he calls out. "Is anyone there?" the longer he looks down the more worried he gets, he's never been this high up before. Young poland gulps and moves to the center of the cage.

Tears begin to fall as he sits back down, he wants to go home. As he cries he doesn't notice the cage begin to lower. Only when it touches the ground does Poland realize what's going on. Standing in front of the door to the cage is none other than Reichtangle.

He opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind himself. Crouching down to Poland's level he wipes away a tear on the child's cheek. Poland continues to cry,

"I want my momma!" he wails. "I wanna go home!"

"Aw little polska, this is your home now. And if you want you can call me father." he says in a calm gentle voice.

Poland has forgotten what happened next, after a few moments of dreamless slumber he is thrown into another suppressed memory.

An older Poland now probably around the age of 16 struggles against his restraints holding him in place. With his arms tied above his head and his legs bound together he can't go anywhere. He is laying across a table which he is also strapped to.

To his right sits a fire place like structure. Standing on his left leaning over him to tighten the restraints is the third reich. Poland's wings hurt from being bound tightly to his torso, Third reich moves over to the fire to go retrieve something.

He pulls out a short metal rod connected to a metal swastika that glows bright orange due to the extreme heat from the fire. With a sickening smile, Third Reich lifts up Poland's shirt and presses the scorching hot metal to his stomach.

Poland lets out an agonizing screech as he thrashes around trying to break free to stop this horriffic torture. Tears fall from his eyes immediately as the metal swastika is pressed further and further into his skin burning away the several layers before finally it is taken away.

Poland dares not look down at his torso in fear of fainting, instead he turns to look at the fire hoping to pass out due to the blinding pain. He watches as Third Reich grabs something else out of the fire, this time it's a metal number, the number 7, lucky number 7. Poland recalls Third Reich telling him about his other experiments.

Poland cries out in agony once more as the number is pressed to his skin, After a long time Third Reich lifts up the metal number and throws it into a bucket of water for it to cool. Third Reich then turns back to Poland and unties him before grabbing onto his arm and yanking him towards the cell.

He throws Poland into the cell before locking the door and pulling the lever sending it upwards. Poland remains where he was thrown, too tired to move. He had just gone through easily, the worst experience of his life.

He remembers thinking about being branded like a cow or bull would be. This is what he got for trying to escape. He sighs and closes his eyes trying to get some sleep though his throbbing wounds kept him up that night.

Poland wakes up in a cold sweat, he feels tears fall from his eyes, trying to wipe them away he can't help but cry more, feeling hot and sticky Poland takes his shirt off to cool down. Luckily the lab is normally pretty cold so he'd cool down soon enough.

As the tears drip down his face Poland stares at the scars left from the branding, they look the same as they did the day after the branding, meaning the damage was so severe that in the 8 years of healing time it hardly looks healed.

He shifts his attention to scan his body thats littered with scars from past "experiments" which really were just different torture methods used on him.

Now up from his slumber he sits crossed legged in the cell and begins so softly singing the national anthem of his people as he traces his scars waiting for Germany to return.

Word Count: 1271

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