The flag flew at half-mast for the seventh day in a row. It was a week of bad news—mining accidents, plane crashes, etc. This time, a congressman was shot.
On the eighth day, the Martians landed. It all happened in
On the ninth day the Martian leader died of smallpox. How he contracted smallpox in this day and age, nobody could quite say. The flag flew at half-mast and we all cried.
Days ten through thirteen saw other calamities involving our green-skinned friends. The flag never made it past half way.
Day fourteen, stricter flag laws were passed.
My father read the news to me at the breakfast table.
“We all have problems,” he explained.
