A blast from my past

Well was looking through some old thing around the pad, and came across this story I wrote in high school. I thought it would be interesting to post it. Sorry it's a bit overly melodramatic, back in the days of teen angst. What a difference 15 years make, for one I hope my grammer has improved abit.

The Final Move

The board was ready, sixty four squares, half black, half white. The squares were side by side to witness the battle. The armies were set.

Across the field two armies stared at each other, each equal but opposite. Each piece faced it's self on a plane of concordant opposition. All pieces fighting for the love of green paper.

The pawns, a force of eight, were ready to attack. Ready to rush forward and strike ahead left or right. The pawns...ready to die for green paper.

The rooks' lives, and powers had been bought on the block of sorrows. Death dubbed rooks, second only to the queen, ready for action. Fore, back, left, or right the rooks are destruction in a straight line. In God they trust.

The bishops' unholy work was ready to be unleashed on their enemies. Compromising their principles for legal tender, the bishops kill all diagonal to them. Betrayal most foul against God, all for green paper.

The knights were ready to sell their swords, and souls for dead presidents. Attacking forward left or right, ready to kill all... Sellswords till the end of time, charging ready for blood. The knights souls were sold into battle for green paper.

The queen is death incarnate, the ultimate weapon ready for use and feared by all. Death in a blinding flash, the queen is retaliation in a mushroom cloud.

The kings' part is that of leaders, and warlords. The weakest among the pieces, his is the cash holder, sending pieces to their death. The profit margin is his God.

The game starts, the war is declared. The first move is made.

The pawns are the first to fall. The screams of the dying are comforted by the all powerful green paper. One rook falls, as the other fights relentlessly, not pausing to mourn it's brother.

The king sits on his throne built of lies. The queen sits patiently on her silo waiting for use. The threats build, and contort carrying all, and no weight.

On the battlefield, knight fight without honor, and bishops without religion. The pawns die or get promoted. A former pawn, now rook, kills again and again in a never ending cycle of greed.

False flags are flown for fools, the real flags are protected in pockets. The battle rages on as it always has, and always will.

The once black, and white squared are now red. The once peaceful squares now torn with violence. The conflict evolves around green paper, nothing more.

The kings are at a stalemate, neither able to move. The soldiers are dead. The bodies of the vanquished litter the red field. All that's left are the kings and their queens.

threats as deadly, and useless as the soldiers are exchanged. The threats grow more and more, as innocents await the outcome.

The final move is made.

The war is over, the pieces are dead. The queens have been used. The field is now so much fused glass, and ash. All that is left is a single piece of green paper.