*Chapter 16 of my novel*
16. Burning the Nations
The man stood in formation with all the other uniformed men. Like them, he had no idea what they were doing outside, under the roof of the dark dawn. With their black and blue uniforms they looked like a congregation of Grim Reapers. The men in the equally vast row across from him appeared as equally confused about their reason for being out in an enormous courtyard and being ordered to dress in uniforms that they were handed upon being abruptly awakened. And from the way that the commanding officers paced in between their ranks most of them were wondering as well.
But, what the man found most mysterious was the vast number of flags that were piled up in between the two rows of uniformed men. At the top of the pile he saw the red, white, and blue of the American flag, the red flag of China with its golden stars an ugly mustard color under the glowing moon. Everything was ghostly under its white light.
The man felt goose bumps spring from his flesh. It was cold. He exhaled, a faint wisp of vapor fumed from his mouth. With Global Warming it should have been no surprise, but still, it was. He raised his gaze to the black abyss. Not a single star flickered in its depths.
The man forced his back to straighten into a stiff posture as a high ranking officer stopped at the center of the gathering at the left end of the pile of flags. "I am assuming you all understand English," he said. The vapor that excited his mouth was like a cloud of toxic gas.
Nobody said a word. The man could not place the Officer's accent, but he could infer that he was likely American.
"I also take it that you do not know why you are here," the Officer said staring down the ranks.
The man felt a shiver as those piercing brown eyes that were black under the cloak of darkness swept over him. His black hair was darker than the sky itself. A scar was faintly visible on the left side of his neck. He was without question a man that had been through the worst that war had to offer to get to where he was now. That high ranking Officer was the most powerful man among him.
"No, Sir!" the man said in unison with everybody else.
"Men, I am going to ask you how to address me properly," the Officer said, "and I'm not referring to my ranking. No, I want you to simply call me by my name of Cyrus."
The man did not know what the man named Cyrus was doing. Never before had he heard of a Commanding Officer wanting to be called by his name. It didn't sound possible. No man in such a position would want to be addressed in such a manner. He had to be pulling their leg. The man braved a glance at the man to his right. Just as he thought, he wasn't believing any of this either.
"I understand most of you are wondering why I am asking this of you," Cyrus said pacing in between the rows. "But, that is why we are here. Along with those sewn together pieces of cloth on a stick that you see before you."
The man directed his attention away from the imposing figure of Cyrus and down to the flags. Gazing at how they were all thrown together like a pile of fire wood sent a shiver down his spine and into the core of his body. Boots thumped on the concrete and the man returned to his rigid position of attention. Four Officers walked in front of him. He noted that they were armed. Their shoulder holsters bulged with what had to be powerful handguns.
The man tensed his shoulders, and felt like letting out a sigh. So many soldiers could not help but feel naked without their treasured firearms. He however, would have loved to live in a world where guns and violence were extinct. Even then, the fossils would always be a reminder of the atrocities of man.
The Officers stopped as if they had come to an invisible wall when Cyrus turned to face them. "Soldiers, direct your attention to the pile of cotton and metal that you see in your midst," Cyrus said.
Yes, the man was sure that Cyrus was American. He didn't have any other accent that he could identify. As the man looked at the flags all clumped together he couldn't help but wonder if his homeland was somewhere in there. But, the one thing that he was desperate to know was why the flags were on the ground in the first place. They were all stationed in an international military base, so naturally they had the flags of many nations. But, shouldn't they be standing upright on poles?
Instead they were on the ground like a pile of rubbish. "Now," Cyrus said, "Give me your uttermost attention." He didn’t even yell out the order. His mere presence was all the authority he needed.
Everyone threw their hand up in salute. The man could not even imagine being allowed to move another muscle until Cyrus gave him permission. The man felt as if Cyrus was talking directly to him. The men on the other side were equally intimidated by Cyrus.
The Officers that were in the center were the only ones who appeared at ease. "I am about to ask each of you a very important question," Cyrus said. "Do you see your flag somewhere in those corpses of cotton and metal?"
The answer came in "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "Yes, General," "No, General," but the most prominent one was, "I do, Cyrus." The man had bellowed the latter along the men on either side of him. He saw his flag in there all right. Just a stray piece of cloth jutting out, but it was there. Deep in the wrinkled mess of multi colored flags he saw the white of his flag with the red cross. The man couldn't stop his hands from shaking with emotion.
That flag represented everything that he held dear. Not the red cross, for he wasn't religious. No, it was his family who were in their beautiful England home. He missed his twin daughters Moony and Susan. The glowing moon did not help matters. His precious daughters had been born during the brightest of full moons. Just like today the times were hard. They had been that way for years before, and nothing seemed like it was about to change.
And it probably wouldn't. For how could it? An entire continent was burned by war. Africa was now Deaths playground. Death laughed when an incendiary bomb destroyed a dictator’s camp. He licked his fingers in satisfaction when starving villagers’ resorted to murder and cannibalism just to survive. The bastard jumped with joy when the United Nations and relief workers could do nothing. He spit on the blackened fire cooked bones of lions and every other creature that was killed by the flames of war. Where humanity had begun it was beginning to end.
The man remembered how his wife had told him how much she wanted to become one of those adventurous women who went on trips all around the world to the animal’s natural habits. But tragically that profession became as treacherous as serving in the armed forces.
Virtually no piece of the globe had been spared from the atrocities of war. In South America war between drug lords was being waged in the once luscious rain forests. Where humanity could once hear the calls of birds that were of every color of the rainbow could now only be heard the pops of automatic weapons, along with the crackles of fragmentation and nitrogen grenades. He recalled the times he joked with his wife about how the fighters had the decency to not use incendiary grenades. Never had she laughed about that.
After she had showed him photos of dead animals that had been within the range of the nitrogen grenades blast radius he hadn't found anything to joke about. Their bodies had been broken from the sheer force of the explosions, and then glazed with frost.
"I have another question to ask of you," Cyrus suddenly said.
The man had been so startled by his interrupted thoughts that he had nearly jumped in surprise. That wouldn't have gone well for a man in his position. He was a Major, and proud of it. But, he wasn't proud of what it took to get to where he was now. No matter how much he tried he could never wash the blood off his hands.
"But first, I need Second Lieutenant Forrest to pick up one of the flags," Cyrus said.
One of the Officers who was standing in the middle of the ranks approached the pile of flags and picked one up. Cloth tangled with poles as the pile settled after being disturbed. The man recognized it as the North Korean Flag, its blue, and red color, with a trace of white was eerie under the moon.
"Lamont," Cyrus said, "hold the flag up for all to see."
The Second Lieutenant held up his left arm straight up into the air. The flag clung uselessly to the metal pole against the windless sky. It was a pitiful sight, like the cloth was trying to wrap itself around the pole. Like it feared something would happen. Maybe it would. Why else would they be out here? Cyrus approached the Lieutenant pointing his arm to the sky like a statue. He stopped three paces away.
"I need one of you men whose country is symbolized by this flag to step up!" Cyrus said.
A man immediately broke from the far right end of the row across from the man, and walked toward the center where the flags were. "Cyrus?" the man said with a hint of a Korean accent.
"Are you proud of your country?"
The man seemed to hesitate before saying, "Yes! I am indeed, Cyrus!"
"Are you up to the task of uniting humanity?"
"I am, Cyrus! It is what me and my people have been trying to do for years! For too long we've been accused of doing nothing but wrong! How does only trying to make every citizen equal fall under that category! Democracy is political anarchy!"
"Sergeant Sakong, take that flag out off Lamont's hand!"
Sergeant Sakong did. There was no denying it, Sakong's arm was trembling as he retrieved the flag of his homeland.
The man couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. What was Cyrus going to have him do?
As if on cue Cyrus barked, "Titus! Hand me the fire!"
Another one of the Officers marched toward Cyrus and reached toward his shoulder holster and pulled out a black instrument that the man could not identify.
Sakong stared at the object as Cyrus held it in his hands. The man did not like the way things were looking.
"Sakong, hand me your flag as you take this torch from my hand," Cyrus said. He said it in a calm tone, as if he were talking to his best mate. But somehow it was more terrifying than if he had just shouted it in Sakong's face. Cyrus took the flag as if it were a gift, while Sakong was reluctant to get his hands on the black instrument in Cyrus's hand.
Everyone noticeably tensed up as Cyrus held the flag out in front of Sakong. The seconds that ticked by felt like hours, and the man expected the sun to show it's brilliance at any moment.
"Sakong," Cyrus said, "you said that you believed in the equality of humanity, did you not?"
"I did, Cyrus."
"Then you shall prove yourself to the cause," Cyrus said.
"I will."
"Sakong, do you know how to use that torch in your hand?"
"I do not Cyrus," Sakong said, "but, if you would just tell me than I will."
"And I will. All you have to do is take the safety off and pull down on the pressure gauge."
The man watched as Sakong fumbled with the device until suddenly a red and orange fire blazing like the sun erupted from the end. Even from the distance that he was the man could feel the heat radiating from the instrument. The flame died out as the startled Sakong released his finger of the gauge.
"Now Bae, do you know what I am about to ask of you?" Cyrus said.
Sakong tensed up at being addressed by his first name. He shook his head.
“I am asking that you burn this piece of cloth hanging by a pole in my hand."
"Cyrus?" Sakong said.
"You heard me correctly, Bae. By doing this, you are showing that you no longer want humanity to be separated by nation."
"I," began Sakong, "understand." He said it in a heartfelt tone that said that he didn't. In one swift movement Sakong ignited the torch and the flag was instantly consumed in flame. Coiling funnels of vapor danced around the fire.
The man watched, shocked as the fire ate away at the flag. Chunks of detached cloth floated to the ground where they continued to cook. The concrete in between Cyrus and Bae was like a battlefield. If the man were observing the burning from a distance, where no one would see him, he would be shaking his head. Fire was among the world’s most abused gifts, from the very moment its power was discovered by cavemen.
In no time, the blaze had eaten away the flag down to the pole. The pole, was of some heat resistant element, because Cyrus did not seem bothered by any heat being conducted by it. When the flag was no more, Cyrus let the pole fall out of his grip. It fell in what slowly, as if the gravity were pushing against it. Its clang echoed in his mind long after the sound faded from the face of the Earth.
"Devlin, Oliver!" Cyrus said. "Retrieve a flag!"
The two Officers who had been watching the horror in silence briskly marched forward and each dug through the pile for a flag. The man’s heart leapt when he saw one of them grip the flag of his homeland. When the man let go and instead picked another his rate did not return to normal. No matter which flag was chosen the result would be the same. Or would it? Could he stand to see his flag be burned?
"Hold them high," Cyrus said.
The two Officers held up two flags. The German flag and Australian flag.
The red cross on the Australian flag made the man think of his flag of England.
"If any of you here are from these countries, step fourth," Cyrus said in the same casual tone that he had used when talking to Sakong. Two men stepped out, one from the same row that the man was in.
They stopped before the Officers holding the flags. The exchange happened quickly and two soldiers held the torches in their right hands.
"You know what to do," Cyrus said.
"We do, Cyrus!" the two men said at once and swung their hand toward the tips of the leaning flags. The bursts of flame scorched at the fabric and the flags were no more. The clangs and gongs of the poles hitting the ground around the ashes sent a shiver down his spine all over again.
The process of burning continued, but the man could not look when they were set afire. When the sixth batch of burning was done the man shifted his eyes to the diminished pile of flags. His was at the top of the pile. He held his breath as all four Officers approached the pile. To his bewilderment they ignored the England flag seemingly brushing it aside and instead pulled out all the others.
This time, the man did not even check to see which were the victims. But he already knew that the United States and Brazil were among them. Ever since the first three batches Cyrus had not called anybody fourth as he expected them to come on their own accord. What the man could not help but wonder was would what happen if a particular flag did not have representative? Would it still be burned? He already knew the answer. Of course it would. Cyrus spoke like he was serious about uniting the world, but this barbaric act of ritualistic burning was... evil.
Evil. That was a word that the man did not believe in. He only believed in the bloodthirsty nature of man. And that was fact. The evidence was right in front of everybody, every second that they breathed. The man looked straight down at the pile of ashes and poles on the ground as the flags were lit.
When the naked poles fell to the ground they chimed like a clock signaling the end of the day. The man knew his time had come. The man returned his filed of vision to eye level and watched as Cyrus walked toward the last flag in the pile. His. Cyrus scooped up the flag in one swept movement and held it high.
The man could almost feel the tears come as the flag hung in the air perfectly aligned with the moon. How he missed his family. His wife, his beautiful twin daughters, Susan and Moony. The man would not let anyone burn his flag and marched up to Cyrus.
"And we save the last for the stranger," Cyrus said. "And your name, soldier?"
"London," the man said without a hint of lying. It was nothing but a lie.
A smile formed on Cyrus's lips. It was a blood chilling sight to see him appear to be the kindest of men right before his eyes, personally. "You know what to do," Cyrus said handing him the torch.
The man did a smile of his own and said, "Yes I do." He slapped the torch out of Cyrus's hand. The torch bounced on the ground with a thud that made it sound like a bomb in the deathly silent courtyard.
"London," Cyrus said, not even hinting at being angry, "would you kindly pick up the torch and do what everybody else has done without hesitation?"
"Never."
"London, what are you doing?"
"Why do you have to ask?" the man said. "Was it not the American people that began to show their heart and bravery by being Patriots?"
Cyrus only gave him a pity filled gaze. "Titus," he said.
The man kept his eyes locked on Cyrus as Titus's footsteps neared. He heard Titus retrieve the torch from the ground. The man smiled. He felt so proud of himself. He could not wait to tell his wife and daughters of standing up for his country, but most of all, them.
Suddenly the man felt a tremendous blow to his face. He hadn't even seen Cyrus move his arm before his fist connected with his forehead, just over the eyes. The man couldn't even feel the pain of his body hitting the courtyard, as his entire body had gone numb.
“You want to be like a Patriot, but you shall die like a treacherous dog," Cyrus said tossing the England flag on him.
The man reached for it and hugged the cloth to his chest like a child would his favorite blanket.
"Lamont, Devlin, Titus, Oliver," Cyrus said. They approached the man, the torches in their hands. "Light up the stray dog."
The man fantasized about telling his family his story before the flames burned his flesh. He wept as he burned along with the flag.
Cyrus and the others walked away and left him alone with his tears.
As the flames tortured him the man felt tears trickle down his cheeks. The flames sizzled where they slid. With a pain that he felt deeper than the flames the man knew that he would never make it home. Would never see his wife again. Would never hold her. Would never see his daughters. He would never be able to make them smile, even though it was truly them that made him smile.
He trembled, not from the flames, but from his yearning to be with his family. Wait! What the bloody hell is wrong with me! I can't give in to death! The man threw his body to the right and began to roll. Even as the rough ground scraped against his charred flesh the man did not cease.
“Release the Volf,” Cyrus said and then a howl that resonated in the courtyard thundered.
The man let out an exasperated breath of air as the fire that burned with sizzled out. He blinked as his tears became ice. What is this? A hulking black animal trotted down the ranks. Men trembled as they hugged themselves.
The man opened his mouth to shout but no sound came. He crawled back, slithering along the cold ground. The closer the beast got the colder the air became. There was nothing natural about the creature. Its paws were three toed, each with a horrific claw. Reptilian eyes stared out its grotesque wolf head.
“Back you monster,” the man said in what was only a whisper. His lungs were parched and were merely sustained enough to give him enough oxygen to breathe. His backward crawl was stopped by a foot as it rammed into his left shoulder. The man let out a choked yelp.
“Halt,” came Cyrus's voice from behind him. The creature ground to a stop.
The man shut his eyes, squeezing down on them with his lids. He could not stand the sight of the animal. He trembled from both the frigid temperature and the sinister allure the creature emitted.
“One last opportunity London,” Cyrus whispered into his ear.
The man opened his eyes in surprise. Cyrus was crouched down beside him and was sliding a hand under his armpits. He began to struggle as he was hoisted up into a sitting position but gave in. All of his energy expired.
"Will you let go of your foolishness and became a part of the chain of unity? We all yearn to once again see you as a friend," Cyrus said.
The man only panted. He stared into the eyes of the beast before him. "Nice dog," he said. There was no other animal genus that fit it. Unless he counted mythological lore. In that case he would call it a werewolf. Volf, that was what Cyrus had called it. Never in his life had he ever heard of such an animal. Not even from his wife, who was a natural on the matter.
The Volf did not stir. It merely studied him with curious eyes. Not just curious, but intelligent eyes. Even the way it held itself in an upright manner gave the impression that it was of the most elite of canines. At this distance its fur had a beautiful blue tint. Like the surface of the night time sea.
"Well London, what is your answer? Do you wish for all of this to be a faded memory?" Cyrus said in a sympathetic tone.
He still held his tongue. The man would not give in.
"I can make that happen. You will not recall anything of what we all no doubt regret ever having occurred."
"No," the man finally said.
Cyrus held him for several tense seconds before whispering, "Then you shall be a feast for the beast." He released his hold on the man's shoulders.
His body slumped back on the ground. He gazed up at the sky. The darkness was becoming light, but inside, all was dark. The man's tears froze as he wept with the worst pain a man could endure. A yearning for his family. He wanted to be enveloped in their love again. Through the windows of his tear coated eyes he saw the hazy silhouette of the Volf. It was coming in for the kill.
The Volf began to circle him. Icy breath whisping from its ajar mouth. Long fangs jutted out from black gums. It stopped along his right side.
His teeth chattered. Mucus froze inside his nose and his very lungs ached from the cold. He shut his eyes as the Volf lowered its head to his. The impossibly frigid breath washing over his face. This is it, it's the end. Never again shall I see my family.
"I love you all!" he shouted. His body went still before his organs even ceased to function. He died of a broken heart.
I have no problems with this so yeah..good luck with your next one!!!! 
Gender:
Points: 37408
Reviews: 182