She was young when her parents died, no older than eight. They were killed by the men who flew the planes who dropped the bombs. The bombs were beautifully painted with the colors of a flag. How ironically poetic it was to paint bombs with the colors of a flag. As they flew down, the little girl almost understood why it was done. But who can really understand why others kill the innocent. It’s even a harder concept to grasp when seeking innocence. Nobody had it. So what did she do when the ones who kept her prisoner died? She kept guard of the cell herself, trapped inside her own mind. Since there was nothing else the girl could do, she walked. The little girl moved one step in front of the other until it was inside her blood, in rhythm with her heart and in understanding with her mind.
Perhaps after walking for years on end, or no more than a couple of minutes a man runs out of the surrounding forest. He was an odd looking man that had a shadow of someone he used to be draped over his face. He ran up to her, threw something at her feet, cursed at her and slapped her on the cheek. He proceeded to take a gun, bring it to his head and shoot himself. The little girl, oddly unhindered, picked up what the man threw at her feet. It was a box with a large red button positioned on top of it, as simple as could be. Carefully, the girl sat down and examined the box more closely. After knocking on it, she came upon the realization of it just being a hollow metal box with a red button that was not attached to anything. So the girl, figuring that she could do nothing else pressed it.
She woke up in her own bed with her parents standing over her looking quite cross. How could all of that been a dream? As she got out of bed, her father punched her in the gut and put a bag over her head. He hauled her out into the streets where hands of all types touched her and groped her, but they were not of lust. The girl sensed the hate around her and she was pulled and tugged. Finally, when the long and painful trip was over, they pulled off the bag. Sunlight blinded her as her face turned dark with realization. They were going to shoot her. She tried to explain, but all they knew was that the button failed and that she was responsible. Responsible, because there was nobody left to blame. So she shrugged and faced the barrel of the gun with curious eyes that seconds later lifelessly glazed up at the bombs flying from the sky, colored with a nation’s flag.