Th Truncated Flag

On a cold Saturday evening I was on the beach, watching my wishes come true. I looked to the right and the sandcastle was almost finished, and its shaky edges still showd no sign of crumbling, falling away or anything like that, so it was good. You could see in the sky that the afternoon had just started to give way to the evening, because the darker colours were starting to emerge and you could hear the metalrattle of the pole being hit by the string as the flags were being pulled up.

I always had unquiet questions about the flags, never liked them, wished they'd DIE. From behind me I heard ruffles unfold and fabric falling, the kind of flapping a one-winged bird makes to getaway, getaway quick. The fabric fell and all was silent. I decided to move closer. To my great delight, on the floor I could see the Fallen Flag, the Flapless Folds on the ground. Its left side had been covered with sand, making it look half its usual side, as if it had been shortened, truncated.