Flagging It Down (Jane C.R.)

I think you've forgotten that I can still see you.

Over the years as you've progressed to gamble, steal, cheat, and murder, you have forgotten that I know what you are doing, where you are doing it, at any given time.  You have neglected to remind yourself that I don't insist on sitting at the top of the flag pole for no reason at all. As you slipped poison into the wine of your friends, as you watched them pull their stomachs up through their throats, you prayed to God for forgiveness. Forgiveness. What you didn't understand is that it was me you should have been praying to, because when time came for you to own up to your sins, I was the one that would get to you first.

But, I am also to blame for what you have done, for what you have become. When you ducked behind clown masks - expertly crafted - I unclenched my fists to run the tips of my fingers over the bright colours. My love, my utter admiration for you flooded my vision red and white whenever a heart was impaled on your blade.

It has taken an army and a half to peel away the blindfold, gorilla glued and stapled to my forehead by a professional-grade gun, and re-teach me the colour of the sun -- the undiluted ball of light.

But now, armed with swords sharpened by the screams of those who were powerful enough to rise up from the ground you tried to bury them under, I'm going to cut away all your layers until you're standing vulnerable and entirely human before us. I am not a dog or pet of any kind that will just follow behind on a leash wrapped tightly around my neck, satisfied, no, content with being obedient.

What I am is a sign. A sign, a signal, a message to all those who feel as though they aren't receiving what they deserve that there is a place where you can shine, where you can spread your wings so wide you dip your fingers in both oceans.

You are my ultimate contradiction. A constant plague in my mind and reputation. An eternal thorn in my side where blood flows from that deadly wound that will never heal as long as that branch stays jabbed deep in my flesh.

But I'm going to rip it out, and when I do my skin may tear, the bleeding might intensify, but calloused palms will stitch my gaping flesh together and hoist me back up into the sky where I belong.

And when that happens, I'm going to tear down everything you built, and start again.