White Always Wins

This snippet is a short little one-shot that I wrote off of the word 'grungy'. It was loosely inspired by The Little Prince.

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He showed up at our door on a Tuesday morning. His breath created icy clouds in the air, crystalizing on his ragged beard. His bony body trembled violently, as though he could have toppled any moment.

Mother was never one to turn anyone away, even a grungy old man who hadn’t bathed in weeks. She ignored the stench, whisking him inside without a second thought. I’d smelled cigarette smoke before, but only in passing. This clung to him like a thick cloud, mixing with the scent of sweat and exhaustion.

At first, I was terrified. It wasn’t every day that my home was invaded by a stranger. When he vanished into the shower I hid in my room and tried to vanish into my music. But I couldn’t help noticing when he entered the hallway, couldn’t help peeking out at him and gawking at how clean and comfortable he looked.

He was wearing my dad’s clothes, too.

He noticed me hiding in the shadow of my doorway and offered a gap-toothed smile. He seemed as though he was going to speak, so I ducked back into my room, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t show my face until that night at dinner. And even then, my replies to his and my parent’s questions were monosyllables, too blurred to be anything but nonsensical.

But that evening I found him in the living room, playing chess against himself on my old, wooden chess set. I crouched in the doorway, hidden in soft shadows.

He gripped the black knight and moved it to E4. White moved a pawn to F3. He grunted to himself, rubbing his beard with his hand. Then black’s knight jumped to G5. I watched as a space was cleared for White’s bishop and queen. Two moves later, White lost the bishop. Black lost its knight. Ten moves later, Black had checkmate.

He sighed and leaned back, reaching up a gnarled hand to push through snow white hair.

Then he cleared the board with his arm, and the wooden pieces were carefully set back in their places. Each one was perfectly centered in their squares, not a hair out of place. 

When I thought he was about to move White in a queen’s pawn opening, he paused and looked around. I froze, locking up like a mouse. Perhaps I thought that if I were still enough, I would be invisible. I’m not sure.

But his milky blue eyes found me, and a smile crept across his wrinkled face, revealing those crooked teeth. “Hello. Would you like to play with me?”

His voice was gravelly, but oh so gentle. It was rather like he was talking to a scared puppy. He waved me forward, hunching over to look me in the eye. I involuntarily stepped towards him, wrapping my arms around myself.

He didn’t speak again, only motioned for me to sit. I wasn’t aware of what I was doing until I was sitting down with Black’s army as a barrier between us. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for him to move.

White: Queen’s pawn opening. Black: King’s pawn to E6. White: bishop to F4. His fingers were quick and sure. I hesitated with each move, avoiding his steady gaze. My hands shook and I fumbled with the pieces. Black: Knight to C6.

It took him eight moves to put me in checkmate. My king, trapped by my own forces. My mind was whirling as I realized what he did, how he did it.

I met those milky blue eyes, one word leaping from my mouth. “Again?”

So began a long lasting friendship. Even after winter morphed into spring and he left my home, we would find each other in a park or plaza. One of us always carried around a chess set. And there, on the soft grass in bright sunlight, we would battle to the death.

Even years later, in the hospital, we played. His eyesight was failing and both of us knew his heart wouldn’t last much longer. But I would guide his hands to each piece. I bought a chess set of stone pieces and combined them with my original set. White was stone, Black was wood. White was cold and smooth, Black was warm and rough.

He died right after I checkmated him. It was my first win.

At his funeral I placed the stone king in his pinewood box.

For years afterwards I would carry my wood and stone set to his grave. And I’d play against myself, the board over his name, sitting across from where his body lay.

White always won.