15 August 2012
Alexander tucks the last of the flags in the crook of his elbow, and made his way up the tiny winding path that curls around Drint hill. He makes this journey so often, he thinks that maybe it was him who made these dusty grooves in the hill in the first place. It isn't that far to the top, but it's a steep path, so Alexander is soon out of breath. He stops under a small, spindly blossom tree, and drops the flags at its foot. They clack and rattle as their wooden poles hit each other, and scatter in every direction. They are longer than he is tall, so he has no patience with them sometimes. Alexander sighs, and sits next to the unruly bundle, brushing his black hair from his face. It is hot today; a perfect day to finish this. Perfect. When he is a little less out of breath, he stands up, and brushes the dusty soil off his jeans. He gathers up the sticks and balances them on one shoulder, wrapping his arm around them, and holding on the their brightly coloured linen flags with one hand so they did not rip should he brush against a holly bush or bramble. If you were to sit in the dark, dry branches of the blossom tree, you would notice how tenderly and carefully he holds onto the flags. You would also notice the loose knot of cotton strings attached to the top end of each pole, and be puzzled as to their purpose.
Alexander trudged slowly up the rest of Drint hill, the warm summer sun melting his anxiousness away, and leaving nothing but excitement and relief. He turned a corner around a cluster of apple trees, and finally he was at the top. He dropped the flags onto the dry, dusty grass, and kneeled down to untie the knots. He then proceeded to take one flag at a time, stick it deep into the grass. He then unravels the string, and then places the end about 15 metres away,with about six hundred other threads. He repeats this process until all of the flags he has brought up with him are stuck in the ground. Then he takes a step back, looks back at his village in the valley below, takes hold of the strings, and pulls.
He waits a while, looking at the sky, pulls out a notebook, and then writes this.
"I finished today. Six hundred and seventeen flags, each twelve foot tall, each with a different colour flag which I dyed by myself, sewed, whittled, welded and carried, all stood proudly on top of Drint hill. To me, they looked like beautiful women with flowing hair, or soldiers in lines, ready for battle, whatever they looked like to anyone else, I'm sure they'd would agree that it it was a spiritual experience. I also decided with the beautiful July sun, toda would be the day I let them fly. I waited until the wind was blowing enough that the flags all flapped like birds do if you keep them in a cage. I knew that they wanted to be set free -they all wanted to fulfil their destiny. I checked, first, what was happening below. I slipped in between two mulberry trees, and stood on a large rock that was high enough I could see into the valley. I could see that the streets were full of people who had seen the flags on top of Drint hill, and come out to see them. They were all chattering and pointing and gossiping, still going about their lives... Just feeling a little curious.. I hadn't intended to make such a show of it, but I was glad I could share this with so many of the people I knew.
Finally, it was time.
I climbed back through the mulberry trees, and ran across to where the threads all met in a huge, heavy knot. I wrapped my hands around it, and pulled it up. It weighed so much, it was hard work and I wasn't sure it would work, but gradually, I began taking slow, laboured steps backwards. The strings lifted further from the ground with each step, pulling tighter and tighter each time. Eventually, the strings were so tight, and the wind was so strong, I knew that now had to be the moment. I closed my eyes, took a deep, cool breath of air, and lifted my left foot. I placed it behind me, and shifted my weight back, pulling the strings a little bit harder. There was silence. I opened my eyes, and looked up at the flags, now flapping excitedly in the wind. I felt... So disappointed.
Suddenly, there was a creak, followed by some low groans, and the sound of metal on metal. With one final pull, tiny catches on all the tops of every single flag sprung open with echoing pops and clicks and snaps, releasing the coloured linen from the poles. They burst into life, rushing from the top of the hill like a flock of birds, flapping and whipping against each other, spiralling on, gusts and boughs of wind. I was filled with such intense emotion as hundreds of squares of colour filled the sky, like tropical birds, heading south for the winter. I laughed out loud. I felt like the king of the world. My spirit was up there with them, wheeling and whirling about the sky. I felt like I had set myself free and it was all I could do not to laugh and cry and shout and run all at the same time. Running in between the mulberry trees again, I looked back at Drint. Every single person stood in silence, smiling up at my technicolour sky. At this point, they filled the blue for miles, and when they fell from the sky, they filled the trees with bright colours, and when they fell into the streams and brooks they dyed them rainbow colours.
For one brief moment, everybody in Drint felt the same. They felt like no matter how hard times are getting, times like this make it a little easier. They felt like they were flying up there themselves, and they were so brightly coloured and free, they could go where they want, and fly above the clouds forever. Those flags flew like free people, set free after years of misery and hardship, sailing like ships across the ocean. Each person finally saw the beauty that surrounds them, and maybe soon they will forget, but something else will remind them. I myself am a tiny flag that has been wheeling through the sky most if my life: I know better than anyone that things never go how you plan, but you just have to pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, and catch your breath. There is no point growing old unhappy. I try everything I can to show people that living is the most beautiful thing you can give to a person, and if they waste it, they need to be saved. Sometimes a lost soul strays off the pan, and they need to be helped to the clearing. I hope today, I showed everyone. I really hope."
As the last flags drop into the valley, Alexander begins to pick his way back down the hill, and go home. But for a second, he pauses, rips out the pages he has just written, and writes something else in the page behind.
"What a beautiful day"
Alexander The Flag Boy • Opuss № I