Liberty and Justice

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining se-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-kssssshhhhhh...

The sound on an old set of speakers cut out suddenly, the antique CD player they were connected to sputtering out in a shower of sparks.

A sigh came from a figure nearby, his rugged hands working tirelessly to carefully unfold a multicolored cloth on the table in front of him. The features of his face remained cloaked in the depressing darkness gathering in the corners of the room. The hungry shadows were only barely held off by a pathetically small candle on a stand next to where he was working.

The whole room the man resided in was generally unpleasant. It was dark, dusty, and dry except for the wall behind the man; which was wet. A black, disgusting mold had entrenched itself in the cracks of said wall. On his right, if you squinted, you could see rows of boards where a window used to be. The left wall conversely was empty and plain. Across the table from him a splintered door stood guard, old and weary from its silent vigil.

However, the man paid the room's poor living conditions no mind.

A small tired smile came upon his hidden face, as he held up the tri-colored banner he had worked so hard to preserve.

That smile was quickly banished as a distant boom rocked the building he was housed in, causing the rafters to release years of accumulated dust in one go. The man coughed and hacked, the dust removing any semblance of oxygen from his lungs.

After his lungs stopped crying out in pain, the man peered outside through a small crack in the wall. What he saw there assured the man of one thing: the sounds outside were sure signs of death.

With a resigned grimace, the man quickly grabbed the cloth, and carefully tucked it uder his left arm.

After leaning over the table and blowing out the candle, he quickly dashed out the door and into the dimly moonlit night.

The far off booming sounds of explosions were slowly but surely inching ever closer.

<~----------------------------------------------------------------------------------~>

The man ran, not for his life, but for his country. With the pride of a nation under his arm he ran over the grassy knolls that seperated the city from the ocean.

The precious object under his arm was all the man thought about as he ran. The stripes it bore, the stars it earned, they all held high significance in the mind of the man. They held importance far beyond simple bands of color and shapes.

Within them was the pride of a nation. Years of sacrifice, love, loyalty, liberty, and justice. And so, so much more than could be put into words.

As his mind was distracted, he almost didn't notice when the ground under his shoes suddenly transitioned from grass to sand.

The man finally slowed to a stop as he reached his destination: the beach.

Casting his eyes out over the beautiful sea; wild, and free, he was suddenly reminded of wonderful liberty.

The man moved over to the right and reached beneath a small overhang of rock that hung just above his waist; and began pulling out a small wooden raft lovingly made from dead tree branches.

After finally wrestling the raft from the niche he had stored it in; he took a rather long stick he had picked up from the ground on his way to the beach, and pushed it into a prepared spot in the middle of the wooden construction.

He quickly bound it with twine from his pockets, using his pocket knife to cut off the excess.

The small smile made a return upon the man's face when he retrieved the banner from beneath his arm.

Its three colors of red white and blue, lit up his spirit with its beautiful hue, giving him the resolve he needed to finish his task.

Taking the last of the short supply of twine he had brought with him, he attached the banner to the stick by threading the string through two metal ringed holes on the piece of treated cloth.

He then gingerly hefted the raft that carried his nation's symbol, placing it down into the waves. The man put his right hand to his heart, a final salute to the flag of his country.

The sound of explosions suddenly stopped, letting the man know it was time.

With a heavy heart he set the raft in the softly bouncing waves, and pushed it out to sea.

While the pile of sticks and a flag began to drift away, he allowed himself to sing:

Amazing, grace!

how sweet the sound,

that saved a wretch a wretch like me!

As he sang that line, the song died in his mouth, while his heart continued on..

Reaching down into a holster by his side, the man retrieved a Weston 34 AI guided pistol, which beeped in acknowledgement of his presence. A light on the side turned green.

I once was lost, but now I'm found.

The man looked back at the flag that was drifting further and further away. And he honored it one final time, before marching torward his certain doom.

Was blind but now I see!

There were soldiers marching through the oceanside city, bearing guns of complex and terrible design. They were followed by hovering tanks, and aerocopters, each just every bit as fearsome as the weapons they carried.

T'was grace that taught my heart to fear,

The man had no backup. no weapons besides his pistol, and no vehicles of mass destruction.

But what he did have was a love for God, for his country, and for the people in it.

And for the remainder of what was left of America, he would gladly give his life.

and grace my fears relieved!

Storm clouds that had been gathering since the beginning suddenly released their agony in the form of a torrential downpour.

How precious did that grace appear,

the hour I first believed.

The rain pounded a war beat, the lightning flashed in anger, and the thunder sounded a victory cry.

The man, was just an ordinary man. Raised in the country he loved, he made his mark on the world by just doing the best he could. Knowing that he could make a difference, and believing in justice and liberty over all.

The man, believed in an ideal, an Idea, an ideology that was America. He was determined to not just stand by her, but to make her a better place. He was a Patriot.

It was these reasons the Patriot ran into battle; his gun raised, his spirits high, and his mind calm. As he rounded a corner of a building to confront a patrol of soldiers, he quietly whispered four little words:

"For God and country."

With resolve in his eyes, the Patriot pulled the trigger.

A loud crack resounded through the air. The Patriot let out a gasp, and his gaze was directed towards a red hole that had torn through his chest.

The man staggered while holding his ground for as long as he could; then collapsed to the ground.

He had expected this, the inevitable. He had even been afraid for a time. But as for today, the man had no regrets.

He died, at peace with himself and God. The man sighed and was gone, another corpse to add to the burning piles lining the ruined streets.

The gun he had carried twitched, Panels on it's sides opened up, extending a pair of stabilizers which it used to right itself. a small optic on the sight of the gun focused on the wary soldiers.

The gun warbled angrily before it began emptying it's contents in the their direction,  before it could score a hit, the commander of the soldiers aimed and fired.

The AI guided pistol sparked and fell to the side with a pop. smoke trailed from it's wreckage.

The commander scrunched his nose. "Damned loyalists." he muttered.

The commander was a tall bear of a man, with dark brown hair and cruel blue eyes, he eyed the cadaver of the Patriot with distaste.

The commander then shifted his gaze around his troops.

"Well? What are you standing around for, you damn lazy bums?" he grated.

"we've got more loyalists to flush out, and if you want to be the one to report to the general that we left even one of them still standing; by all means continue to gawk at the body."

When his company all stood at attention, he grinned thinly. "I thought so. Now get your asses moving! I want to be back at camp before dawn."

The platoon began to move again, all of the soldiers falling back in line. The monotonous sound of many boots hitting the pavement began to fill the air.

Suddenly, a world rendering screech of fear and anger suddenly tore through the minds of the soldiers, and they grasped their heads in mutual agony. The commander, a man of great strength literally and mentally, fell on his knees, the pain making his vision become cloudy.

The strange sound that was not a sound then suddenly ceased.

As the troops slowly recoved from the mental trauma the commander gathered what was left of his wits and ordered his unnerved men to return to base. They could always search another day.

Meanwhile; a mile and a half away and floating over stormy seas, the final reminder of a nation was struck by a violent surge of violet lightning and suddenly disappeared.

...

In her bed on the upper floor of the Golden Oaks library, the alicorn Twilight Sparkle shot out of her bed with a loud cry.

Her eyes were wide and her pupils thin.

Wisps of purple magic drifted off her horn, and heavy perspiration sloughed off her form like a torrential downpour.

Beside her on his new, bigger, basket-styled bed, Spike's glittering emerald eyes were gazing at her with deep concern.

Twilight drew in a shuddering breath, thoughts turning back to the horrifying dream she'd just had. Not to mention the not-so-small amount of her magic that had suddenly ejected itself from her body unbidden.

Clearing her throat she addressed Spike with as much composure as she could manage:

"S-spike, t-take a letter, I-

Twilight paused in her dictation to swallow down the hard lump that had formed in her dry and cottony throat.

"I need to talk to Princess Luna."