A Rebel's Emblem

When my eyes awakened to the enemy's emblem draped over the palace flag, ten long years of fear rushed before my eyes. A whole decade of innumerable sacrifices, our thousands of soliders putting their lives on the line to protect our nation...it was only a mere overture of the infamous rebel's reign. Eyes widening, I watched in silence as my hopes for peace wilted in the morning sunlight, my dreams a luxury I could no longer implore. What a fool I was, to think a simple pact could even be made, let alone kept. Bitterly I turned away, my heart mared to the breaking point; nothing could mend such a gigantic break.

Then I mulled over my ghost of childish optimism, its dialogue no longer adequate. I could no longer pretend that the rebels were merely lax firebrands, that their actions were nothing more than a misdemeanor. A fool, I was nothing more than a fool.

Not even this narrative can describe the emotions I felt that day. And to think, I had thought it was all over, their vindictive washed away like the sand of the morning shore. Ignorant, I was, letting myself believe the rebellion would end in a stalemate. But their actions were a harsh, bitter wind blowing through the ajar doors of the palace, their motives powerful enough to snuff the hearth of our kind leader. Now I could feel its chill clearly; the truth I could no longer deny. Their havoc was only beginning.