Ten by ten they marched for freedom and future’s children.
Nine by nine they dreamed of crisp summer mornings.
Eight by eight they pleaded for others’ enlightenment.
Seven by seven they prayed for peace.
Six by six they smiled wearily.
Five by five they spoke.
Four by four united.
Three clung together.
Two wept.


The Maker’s Mark

When Matthew was a young man, he loved to tinker with things. He always quipped that he was born in the wrong generation because when everyone else his age was Super Mario Brothers, he was in his grandfather’s workshop tinkering.

“Life is precious, my boy,” Amos would say. “Don’t waste a minute of it.”

Matthew smiled and nodded without really knowing what he meant until the undertaker came. The family was happy that Amos went quick and peaceful. After the funeral, Matthew and his mother moved in to help take care of things. Maggie didn’t it, but his mother didn’t know that and Maggie loved having a house full of people who could talk with her.

Matthew lived in the basement with his grandfather’s tools, bits and bobs, and his creations. As cute as they were, and getting smarter every day, Matthew had to agree with his grandmother that they were no replacement for people who could talk. At least, he agreed until the day Maxwell 15 spoke about his maker.

This was written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #2