The gentle blacksmith barged into the castle 
and demanded that the tyrant, who had a serpent 
on each shoulder, for the return of his last son. 
The tyrant’s snakes fed on human brains and two boys
were chosen each day by lottery. The tyrant returned his son 
and asked that the blacksmith sign his name on a decree 
announcing the generosity of the crown. The blacksmith ripped
the paper and fled to his shop. He tore his leather smithing apron, 
hoisted it on a spear he spent his whole life perfecting, 
and rode his horse through the merchant district roaring
to a crowd of people to take sides. That was the first flag ever 
made, the first time in history good was able to separate itself 
from evil with a symbol. The revolt ended the dynasty, and every king since has added a jewel to the flag. The skins of our torsos 
are pieces of the leather apron, our souls the jewels we stitch to it, our bodies the spears that hoist it high. Our flags remind us 
that we’re called from every corner to gather the good and scatter the evil. They remind us of our shop in the corner of the merchant district and our child who has been taken. They reminds us that the serpent king will ask us for a signature soon, and that we must give him a spear instead so that someday the first flag will be the last to fly.