The Cold Nature Of Chess
When I play, there is no sound.
The world becomes absent, silent, still. A shadow in the night, a cool breeze in the dead of winter.
At least… I wish it were this way.
In reality, my heart is pounding… slamming in my chest. I’m losing, my position is cramped, and my opponent is closing in.
She’s bored, unperturbed by my struggle. I want to scream, tear my hair out, slam my head against the tournament wall. And yet I sit there, in a cold seeping sweat. I’m chained to the chair, nailed to the floor. While the gentlemen around me point and jabber. Some hold folded arms, and others scratch their beards.
“I think she’s got him.” One blurts out.
The rest stay silent as I fidget.
I stare at the board, seeking to burn a hole in it. No hole forms.
I’m holding my breath, sinking… watching as she slides the rook.
I don’t want to resign, I want to go home. I want to hide, cower beneath the table. Beg for mercy, anything to make the pain stop.
My hand moves, sliding the king forward.
She doesn’t even wait, to deliver checkmate.
I stumble outside, forgetting to mark my loss on the tournament sheet. I get in my car, and take my sorry ass home.
I lost to a 13 year old girl.
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 30+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
