"The Land of the Free, because of the Brave."

-Anonymous

The very first time, his people had been fighting for their independence.

He watched as the soldiers carried the dead and carefully lowered them to the holes dug in the ground, their final resting place. A few prayers were said for their memory. That was all. These were brave soldiers, but there could be no grand burial, for they needed to move on.

There was not an official flag to raise at the site; to the world, he was not a country - yet. The troops had to move, in order that the dead soldiers' efforts were not in vain.

This time, there was a flag to mark the site. But is was a flag that had been questioned by many of his states. These states which eventually broke of and became their own country.

He stood in front of the rows of flat, white grave markers, his frame casting a large shadow upon the field. Here, those that did not survive the war - the one that split his country into two - were laid.

They were from both sides. They had worn uniforms of blue and gray. They had fought for different reasons. But they were of the same land, and on the same land, they lay together, in peace. Around him, families, or rather the remains of families left after the war, carried flowers of all sorts. A young woman carefully placed a bouquet of roses at the foot of one of the grave markers. Probably her husband that went off to fight - and never came back.

The third time, the flag had acquired quite a few more stars. This time, he stood with a couple of other nations. People had placed flags, medals, pictures, and flowers on the graves

This time, his soldiers had fought around the world, for many different people, including his own. They had fought for many different reasons. The war had left a great mark on all the nations. Both his allies, and his enemies.

In time, they would all recover, and rebuild their countries. But memories would always remain in these fields. The memories of war, hurt, and death. And the memory of these soldiers forever in his mind.

Today, he watches families gather around the graves, and is reminded of the young woman and her dead husband.

He watches them mount flags on the site, and remembers a time there was no flag (but there still were brave soldiers).

He watches friends and family hold hands, and remembers the time he fought with allies and mourned with them.

Throughout the years, many soldiers had died for his country. And their memory will never be erased from his mind.

Notes:

The first part of the story takes place during the American Revolution, the second during the Civil War, and the third during World War 2.

I decided to write this quick story about America in honor of Memorial Day.

For those of you not in the U.S., Memorial Day is day on which people who have died for the country are honored.

The holiday originally started out as the honoring of soldiers during and after the American Civil War.

Tell me if anything should be fixed in this story. Thanks for Reading!

Thanks, Mistypool.