The little square said to the big square, you are four times my size. The little L said that the big L, you are one block longer than me. The five-square shapes were larger than the 4-square shapes, but they did not boast about it. The 3-square shapes knew they'd be selected last, or possibly abandoned, yet they served.
All the 5-square shapes joined ranks, conspiring to reach the center faster than the other side. They zigzagged in a razzmatazz, lances drawn with pizzazz. Forward they cried, the smaller pieces picking up the rear. In a disembodied, shapeless pattern they lay down their lives on the board, filling squares on the checkered battleground.
Breaching the center, they cried with triumph, as the longest piece blocked the enemy from flanking. In parallel ribbons, their offense became defense, filling the voids left from within. Second colors joined in the ranks, forging a quadruple rainbow of frenzy. To the four corners they expanded, taking up space where they could, grasping for extra life, clawing at inevitable spaces for survival.
The colors were rivers of compromise, redirected by external choice. They danced with their opponent like yin and yang, in a finite braid. They took what the environment gave them, as people often will. The few that were left did not succumb to failure, only the sadness of being unneeded.
When the war was over, the squares that were still open sighed at not being covered, yearning for one of the unfit shapes to transform into something that would. Structurally the matrix decoded a blueprint unique to the observer, who followed their circuits into pathways of oblivion. Only the blocks were ignorant of their significance, the mysterious chain of decisions that had determined their fate.
All the 5-square shapes joined ranks, conspiring to reach the center faster than the other side. They zigzagged in a razzmatazz, lances drawn with pizzazz. Forward they cried, the smaller pieces picking up the rear. In a disembodied, shapeless pattern they lay down their lives on the board, filling squares on the checkered battleground.
Breaching the center, they cried with triumph, as the longest piece blocked the enemy from flanking. In parallel ribbons, their offense became defense, filling the voids left from within. Second colors joined in the ranks, forging a quadruple rainbow of frenzy. To the four corners they expanded, taking up space where they could, grasping for extra life, clawing at inevitable spaces for survival.
The colors were rivers of compromise, redirected by external choice. They danced with their opponent like yin and yang, in a finite braid. They took what the environment gave them, as people often will. The few that were left did not succumb to failure, only the sadness of being unneeded.
When the war was over, the squares that were still open sighed at not being covered, yearning for one of the unfit shapes to transform into something that would. Structurally the matrix decoded a blueprint unique to the observer, who followed their circuits into pathways of oblivion. Only the blocks were ignorant of their significance, the mysterious chain of decisions that had determined their fate.
