The world is black and white. White pawns have no choice but to fight. Their king tells them, “Our cause is just and right. Go. Start the charge to spread the light.” They make their move to destroy the night. Black Queen turns to her people to dispel their fright. “Just because we’re dark, they call us the night. They proudly claim to be the light. “God created us different but equal, yet they decided they’re better. Are we going to take this anymore?” Pawns raise their fists, bishops clap and rooks roar. “Are we going to allow a repeat of history? Will we let them call our freedom a felony?” Knights rise up on their hind legs and neigh like fire. “Well done, my queen,” smiles Black King. “You always inspire.” Black Queen stands tall, lightheaded and strange. To her soldiers she nods, “Be the change.” Thus rise her bishop, pawn and knight; The trusty triad, always ready to smite. Raising his head, Black Knight locks White Pawn in his sight. White King sneers when he sees her faithful stallion, dispatching troops from his battalion. “A small sacrifice,” he murmurs, “for the greater good.” “To such lengths you go,” Black Queen mocks, “to fortify your falsehood.” Blazing with anger, White Queen advances. She plays, she teases, with the black triad she dances, before putting an end to their hopes and chances. Black Queen, livid, rallies her troops. “No more holding back! Hard and decisive our attack! Let them know, loud and clear, that the future is black!” They raise their fists and stomp their feet, “Black is victory. White is defeat!” While Black Knight tramples over a pawn, White Rook ends Black Rook’s song; White Bishop obliterates Black Knight; many fall on both sides of the fight. The White Queen sees a chance to surprise a distracted Bishop and ensure his demise. But Black Rook reaches her in a flash, Turning her into ash. A shout of triumph in the air, Black soldiers cheer, white soldiers stare. Black Queen laughs and proclaims, “Behold! Black Rook has changed the game!” Chaos unleashed as everyone fights harder, Death after death, martyr after martyr. Finally, White King is surrounded. Black Queen moves in; the trumpet is sounded. “No…” White King pleads. But she reminds him, “The harvest of your seeds.” She kneels on his neck, whispering, “Today we are freed.” “I…can’t…breathe…” Checkmate.