Please Don't Burn My Country

The enemy approaches, cold is the blood air circulating and choking me. In their death hands they hold our flag, waving brilliantly, proudly in the wind holding the respect of our nation. Suddenly, a torch is brought to them, and I can sense what is about to happen. I step forward, without thinking. I am a young soldier, enrolled by my father who is a well-known war general. I slowly approach them, anticipating in fear, counting the seconds to their close range of shot. At what I believe is a safe distance, I come to a halt and take a deep breath. I cannot understand the words they speak to each other and myself, but yet they seem to understand me. I feel humiliated, but I proceed a little further. Finally, as they stand there staring with their lifeless stares, a fierce intensity beaming off themselves and seeming to push me back. I fall back, the ground ice and hard. I stand firmly right back up, and begin to speak. I ask if they are going to burn my country's flag, they snicker and nod in reply. I clench my fists in anger and without realizing what I'm saying, I begin to speak in a shout. The dawn breaks on the silent, bloody battlefield.

"Burn my flag if you must, but before you do you'll need to burn a few other things first: My heart, my soul and spirit, and my freedom. Because if you bring down my flag, you bring down me and everything that makes me proud to be a free citizen of my beautiful and just country!
"You will not only destroy a small piece of cloth, you will be destroying the equalities and liberal rights that I have learned to love. So as a young, naive patriot of America, all I ask as my dying will are two small things. One, bury me with that gracious flag, and two, let everyone in our country's future generations that I, a simple American, died proudly and noble as should they."

So at last when I am finished, they call me forward. I hold my breath as they walk toward me, their black boots stomping on the rocky earth. I watch the stars and striped turn crisp and dark. I show no signs of emotion, though I am full of rage and fear. I lay down next to the ashes that remain, and say nothing. A trigger is pulled, and as I look to the ashes, I smile as my vision becomes a deep dark red. I make no sound, I hear no sound, and I die smiling as I whisper my last words at the blurry red sight of both armies running as each other. God. Bless. America.