On a battle field strewn with the stinking remnants of a fresh and bloody battle, where one side due to overwhelming numbers, counts the bodies of their enemy in the thousands as they throw their torn carcases onto what is becoming a bloody mountain. They loot and collect personal trinkets as they tread through the carnage to make sure all are dead and no one is missed.
On the edge of this scene a man who is still breathing comes too with a jagged gash oozing thick clotted blood, and a massive lump on his forehead. He soon realises that he is on the loosing side. He is the flag bearer. And in a moment makes his decision, a decision that would thrust him into the pages of history, in some books that will never be written as a man with outstanding courage, but in others thick and glorious, bound with the spoils of conquest, a fool.
He reaches down into the satchel where he carries his many flags to the very deepest pocket and retrieves a flag reserved only for the very rarest of occasions, a flag that has never in the centuries of his people ever once been raised. Still in perfect condition the flag bearer unfurls a perfect white flag, attaches it to his short once proud, now shattered flagstaff. Instead of raising it he forces it down into a nearby pool of crimson freshly leaked from his pierced comrades staining the virgin flag dirty red. Raising it in one hand drawing his sword in the other and across the field of destruction he charges roaring “no surrender.”
Beautifully remembered for eternity in the minds of his captured countrymen and women as the last free man.
corex
June 5, 2007...3:37 pm
Raising the red flag
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