and blood soaks into the cheap rag
that holds our deepest oaths.
Soon the red banner shall cover the sky
and we shall rise
from under the grinding heels
of old conquerors
with our swords in hand,
and we shall triumph,
a nation, a people united.
Such a beautiful dream, Emilio.
But what went wrong?
Our troops are divided,
our men lost,
and the end in sight
is a new conqueror,
buying the earth under our feet.
Another war, and I'm not there to fight it.
My back was turned
as my comrade cut my willing flesh
one last time.
Prompt: dramatic monologue, point of view of Andres Bonifacio, talking to Emilio Aguinaldo.