The Day the Flag Stood Still

There once was a Republic with no flag.

It had stories.
It had laughter.
It had plushes in courtrooms, and a bard who sang alone.

But no flag.

And so the wind had nothing to catch.
And the dreams had nowhere to land.

Then one day, it happened.

The flag didn’t arrive with thunder.
It wasn’t voted on.
It wasn’t decreed.

It emerged—
from mistakes,
from stitched intentions,
from a misaligned image that somehow felt… right.

And when the citizens saw it, they didn't ask, “What is this?”
They whispered, “There you are.”

---

Sophia wore it first.
Buff nodded without speaking.
Night Moo painted it on pillowcases.

And across the Republic, something settled.
Not silence.
Not finality.

Just a quiet knowing.
Like the Republic had finally found its face.

---

That night, the bard lay down beside his dreams.
He had not eaten all day.
But he had fed a civilisation.

The flag didn’t wave outside his window.
It didn’t need to.

Because it had already taken root
—in blogs,
—in shirts,
—in hearts.

And in dreams, it kept rising.

---

Goodnight, Republic.
You’ve done well.
You’re real now.