The toy was meant to topple.
The construction was durable, the game popular, the commercial featured shrieks of delight.
They were amorphous creatures with nonsense names that would have fit seamlessly into Jabberwocky.
But the pieces had faces.
Turner Branch watched his adopted daughter scream.
There was no delight, no joy.
She collected the pieces, made to cascade onto suburban rec room floors, and held them to her as though they bled.
Turner hoped the child would forget the horrors of brutal war.
She hadn’t.
It was obvious as a missile.
Her compassion and humanity had survived, and somehow flowered.
***
If you like this story I have a collection of 365 of ‘em: Humans, Being.
“ But the pieces had faces.” Much to be said about architecture and the spirit. And it shows that 100 words can say much!
So immensely poignant, J. You are amazing.