Earnest Elephant #3
She’s never been very good at organizing, even though that’s why she’s here. Someone who admired her put her in this director position for all the wrong reasons, but she accepted the challenge. Her concert had gone off without a hitch; both bands showed up and played well, and everyone who attended enjoyed their performances. Even the adults who crowded the sidelines seemed to enjoy the punk music. The decorations were all being set up as she stared at him.
She forgot all about her duties as the ceremony began. Walking forward, holding the tattered cloth, her eyes were asphyxiated on his. Deathly afraid of messing everything up, she focused on the green uniform identical to her own. He wore a hat, a beret, which covered what she knew to be a balding head and accentuated the white hair on either side. What had always seemed like cold blue eyes glazed over in the warmth of the heat of the bonfire before him. He stood rigid and proud, chest swelled to match a heart filled with pride.
A messy rendition of “Taps” was played by another on a bugle as is proper. It was a peaceful moment of beauty, the combination of horn and crackle of fire. The symphony crescendoed as the melody of tearing cloth was added. The first red strip was added to the flames, and still she watched her friend. The first white strip was added and his chest swelled with more pride and a deep breath. Slowly, each strip was added and still she watched him through the fire. Thirteen strips, and as the fire retired the old tattered flag, a solitary tear, followed by many tears began to stream down his face.
Others began to leave as the fire died down. One by one they filed out, but she continued to watch, amazed and admiring. Painted in his tears, she saw for the first time what she always thought he’d been lacking. Revealed in that fire was an unbridled passion, an undying love for what she realized was the only thing that had ever truly loved him back.
She forgot all about her duties as the ceremony began. Walking forward, holding the tattered cloth, her eyes were asphyxiated on his. Deathly afraid of messing everything up, she focused on the green uniform identical to her own. He wore a hat, a beret, which covered what she knew to be a balding head and accentuated the white hair on either side. What had always seemed like cold blue eyes glazed over in the warmth of the heat of the bonfire before him. He stood rigid and proud, chest swelled to match a heart filled with pride.
A messy rendition of “Taps” was played by another on a bugle as is proper. It was a peaceful moment of beauty, the combination of horn and crackle of fire. The symphony crescendoed as the melody of tearing cloth was added. The first red strip was added to the flames, and still she watched her friend. The first white strip was added and his chest swelled with more pride and a deep breath. Slowly, each strip was added and still she watched him through the fire. Thirteen strips, and as the fire retired the old tattered flag, a solitary tear, followed by many tears began to stream down his face.
Others began to leave as the fire died down. One by one they filed out, but she continued to watch, amazed and admiring. Painted in his tears, she saw for the first time what she always thought he’d been lacking. Revealed in that fire was an unbridled passion, an undying love for what she realized was the only thing that had ever truly loved him back.
posted by Anonymous at 12:39 AM
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