Prompt: Write about a plate of sunshine.
Yeah, these prompts are fuckin' weird. Oh well. I turned it into 'plait of sunshine,' and didn't even use that phrasing.

November 2007

"You must think you're so hardcore, not saying the Pledge of Allegiance," said Andy Something, the student in the row next to his. "Isn't that right, American Dragon?"

I'm Cambodian, you fucktard, George thought, but he didn't say anything. He'd even rather be called a chink than be likened to a Disney channel character who did nothing but fight crime as a mythical species and lust after some girl with a blond braid.

George had better things to do. Like exist.

"Fuck you," he said.

Andy's rage exploded as if it had been backed up behind a dam all along, seething over at the first opportunity. "You don't like America? Fine! Why don't you go back to your home country?"

George stood and looked the kid in his blue fucking Germanic eyes and said through gritted teeth, "America. Is. My. Home. Country. Why don't you go back to fucking Sweden?" Andy glared, but said nothing more.

The pledge was over, and everyone sat down again, eyes blank. George hated their uniformity. In Japan, or so he'd read, schoolchildren were forced to conform down to the haircut. He didn't understand why anyone here would willingly dress and act exactly like everyone else, with their skin tanned shiny orange and hair bleached yellow, like dead grass. They looked like scarecrows.

If George had been a crow, he would've gotten the hell out.

Based off real-life experience. I got called a dyke once for not saying the pledge. Fucktard.