a flag - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The flag is like a melted stain glass window, fluid in the wind, billowing, drawing the eye to its vivid colours. I wish I could watch it for longer, happily lost in a trance of patriotism.
Riley stood at the edge of the compound, other than the noise of the flags flapping in the near-gale, the wind covered all traces of sound. He cast his eyes upward, the blue peaking out of his brown camouflage paint. His heart beat a little faster to see it, like seeing a traitorous friend, one who had been loved as a brother. In the gathering darkness he couldn't make out the colours, and that suited him fine, he'd be sick if he saw them now. They brought back what he did under that banner, how he was mislead. Elsa said he should let it go, he was lied to, it wasn't his fault - but his inner peace was shattered and he had scores to settle. The clock struck twelve, time to move. One day had ended and a new one begun – the last one for either him or the generals, perhaps both.
Tyler wrapped himself in his duvet. It was warm, but not only because it was duck eider-down, on the front was the stars and stripes, the star spangled banner. After a year in his new country he still felt energized, anything was possible in the land of the free. In his new home this flag meant he could pursue his dreams, work hard, speak his mind. Finally he could say what he wanted without fear of the police or worse beating his door down. Freedom. Flag. Home.
Above is the sound of wind blowing cotton - like so much laundry put out to dry. But it isn't Grandma's old socks or fathers long underwear; it's our flag. To me it will always mean home. It is rectangle of cotton and dye I am proud to stand behind, the old pattern that means we are strong and true. In the gusting wind it moves like it should, like the classic shots from the movies - rippling, almost in slow motion. It must be new though, the colours aren't sun-bleached, they're bright and the fabric isn't frayed around the edges.
The flag on the car flutters violently in the wind. It was cute on the city streets but here on the highway it moves so quickly and noisily that Vera wonders if it might break away from the pole. She watches the cheap plastic bending and the material beat as if it were trying to take flight. It stays that way, a battle between pole and flag until the car slows for the off ramp. Vera switches her attention to the changing scenery, so this will be her home for her university years. It feels so alien, yet no doubt when the time comes to go she'll feel a wrench to leave.
In the wind above my free flowing hair flutters the flag, our flag. It fills my heart just to see the colours. In a strange kind of way I am in love with it, it is me, it is us. It belongs above our schools, our justice system, on foreign aid. It belongs on my home and often on the clothes I wear, jeans, t-shirts and jackets. I wear those clothes frequently, and to church too. So if our flag belongs in all of those places what is it doing on bombs, tanks, weaponry? How can it be in the same places as indiscriminate death? Slaughter? I want our flag to clothe the weak, feed the hungry, give shelter to the lost. I want a flag I can be proud of all the time, not just when I keep my eyes half closed.
When we get to the address I almost turn around and leave, I don't care if we've walked all bloody day to get here. Outside is a flag, but it isn't a flag. It's the biggest and baggiest pair of holey y-fronts I've ever seen. The best that can be said about them is that they're clean. I stop and draw a sharp breath. Bethany is already laughing, she thinks it's hilarious. So this is the sage we're supposed to take advice from? Some wally who thinks running his undies up a pole is the way to go.
A flag flies on an ancient pole, almost all of the racing green paint worn off. The flag itself is new, the colours bold against the baby-blue sky and on the ground lies a rag. When I go to see what it is there is the same pattern as the flag above, just more sun-bleached than I'd ever think possible. A new lick of paint on the pole and you'd never guess it was old at all.