“Raise the flag!” The order comes from across the valley where my Commander’s foot rests on the corpse of our greatest enemy.
I am still out of breath from the sprint. My boots are marred with blood and bone, shrapnel bites into my side but the heavy weight of the bag across my shoulder grounds me to this cliff. I have to raise the flag.
With the flag comes true victory. Placing it is an honor bestowed upon me because of my size and strength: small and mighty. I alone climb the highest mountain and plant our emblem for the world to see.
I reach into the bag and – it’s empty. The flag is missing.
It is then that I remember the fabric draped over the trunk in the center of my tent. Set to dry after a ceremonial cleaning. My heard races, the grounds troops have turned towards my direction. They all start shouting, “Raise the flag!”
I hang my head. Small and mighty and forgetful.
Inspired by: Cracked Flash Year 1, Week 26