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Our heads rested together in silence. We stared into the fire, inviting its warmth into our souls. One monstrous gust of wind tore through our camp. The fire sparked and crackled, leaping towards us and swirling. The only semblance of colour in our white-washed world danced and shook with the force of the storm, paling under the cold’s relentless assault. We never flinched as we held to each other, wishing the nightmare were over. “I’m sorry, Victoria.” My voice was raised over the din we were enveloped in, rather than the softer, lighter tone I would usually have hoped for. “Sitting here staring at this God damn fire just takes it out of me. I wish I could just see something out there!” “There’s nothing out there, Tom! They’re gone. They’re not coming back. I know that, now.” Her voice held such a pitiful, despairing tone that my chest constricted. I had prayed for days that she wouldn’t give it up, but the sound of her crackling, broken voice trying to hide her tears broke my. Countless hugs from complete strangers, our tears mingling on each other’s already damp shoulders spoke more eloquently than the words ever could. We united because we were all human. For several weeks after, American flags sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. Large and small, cheap and costly, freeways, buildings and cars displayed them proudly. I even saw one in my apartment complex with twenty-six white and purple stripes and seventeen stars, hung backwards and upside down. I doubt it was done in mockery, but it silently vanished from the apartment balcony overnight. That now familiar feeling of patriotism reared up strongly when my eye, inevitably, fell on a flag, or eagle. But then again, so did the shame. How could I be so blind to what I had? Besides freedom of person, speech and thought, what is it to be American? I find out more about it every day. As terrible as this will sound, and as much as I am loath to admit it, I owe those men a thank you. Without their action, I.
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