The lights of her bicycle shone as smudged stars, the wintry mist cold upon her skin. As the journey passes, sunlight rouses more colors from their sleepy monochrome and, though the road still has the black look of night, the sky is already more bluish than charcoal. Under the fumes of the morning traffic a tincture of the dawn lingers, like dew upon leaves, a gift of freshness bequeathed anew each day. Upon the petals sat a hundred beads of water, each one a perfect sphere, brilliant in the morning rays. Each drop sat so lightly, yet together they are enough to cause the bloom to bow toward the earth. So delicate was the flower that even these scatterings of dew are significant. Soon the gentle heat of the morning will send them back to the clouds and the bloom will raise her head, calling to the summer bees. Early mornings are their own reward. The mountains are silhouettes against a crimson sky and the air smells of the ocean. There is no drone of cars, or the hiss as they move over the rain coated street; there is only the cry of the gulls as they call for the fishing boats to come in. There is something about the dawn that makes each new day such a gift, eases it in gently, unwrapping the world anew. By contrast waking later in the day feels like a rudeness, the sun already high, bright and hot. At this time of day the air is cool and damp, one could go to an all day spa and not be so refreshed, so recharged.

The war was fought by turning the strengths of opposing societies into the tools of their destruction. For the west their greatest strength was their liberalism, their will for all to feel welcome and included in society. All it needed was a shove into politically correct anarchy with the needs of the many being subverted to the needs of a few. For the middle east their greatest strength was their devotion to God and their enemies found it all to simple to set religious factions against one another. Why kill your enemy when it is far simpler to have them kill one another? For the poor countries it was simple to corrupt their leadership with money and power, selling the populous into slavery. But finest strategy of them all was global finance, everyone wanted money and its supply was controlled by the real masters, the ones who thought nothing a few million deaths here and there. Wars tear people apart, they turn them into monsters. Wars put barricades between brothers they drive people insane. They make people look over their shoulder in even the safest places. What most don’t realize though is that wars are fought every day in every place imaginable. They strike hard and they strike fast in the places people feel most secure. They shred strength and expose vulnerability. They tear victims apart; from the inside out. Genocide, eight letters to describe more murders and pain than the human mind can take in. After one or two deaths there is a catastrophic malfunction and no more is understood, no more emotion forthcoming. One dead child is a tragedy, a thousand of them is a news report between adverts. I'm here though, I'm here on the ground surrounded by the bodies of those I loved, unable to comprehend how my own species could do this. Closest to me is Jennie, seven years old and skipped around the schoolyard with a wide smile. Next to her is eight year old Rosie, the one who wanted to save the whales and sail the oceans. Right in front of them is Ryan, only six and he already wanted to fly spaceships around the galaxy. I could go on but who would read it, who would listen? They were all special, all beautiful, and now they are meat for the buzzards. Perhaps that is the problem with bringing math to issues of humanity, don't tell people numbers, tell them names, who the victims were on the inside. Always humanize, not dehumanize.

Fleur fingered a black pawn, waiting for her opponent. Underneath the table, her feet shuffled impatiently, but her expression remained cold and stoic. She stroked her chin, anticipating many moves ahead. This mundane game was a fight for her life, as was every move she made since her world came crashing down on her. In the blink of an eye, the words "check mate" uttered from his lips. She had lost the war.

As she woke up, Fleur decided to head to the town's park. The beach wasn't the only famous landmark that this town had. As she reached it, she met briefly to a kid who challenged her to a match of chess. Having a basic understanding of the rules, she assumed that the kid was the same. Little did she know she was up against a child prodigy. Needless to say, a loss was delivered as well as some jewels in the end.