The bishop doesn’t look quite right. It’s curved, like what matter is supposed to do as it reaches the event horizon of a black hole. But there are no interstellar occurrences on this chessboard.
I look up at my opponent. He’s a centaur. What else is new? I’m here in some far-flung meadow with a chessboard in front of me. Nothing else is logical, why should my opponent be?
We’re playing for something. You don’t play chess with a centaur unless it’s fairly important. Unless I’m mistaken. I’ve never really met a centaur before today, never really knew they existed until I was here with one right in front of me.
There’s no telling what we’re playing for. It could be for the world, my soul, or perhaps even my lawn. It needs to be mowed, now that I think about it. Maybe he could do it for me, if I win. I’m sure he’d be willing enough. One man’s weeds are a centaur’s luncheon, I guess.
The bent bishop is mine. I don’t know why. Maybe it means something. Perhaps a slanted view of the church? That can’t be right. I go to Mass every Sunday and take it willingly. I don’t hold a wrong view of our priest. He’s a good one, though he’s a tad too progressive for my tastes. Whoever heard of a priest holding a barbeque for the teenagers? It’s not fitting. That’s for the parents to arrange. Despite that, he’s still a good man. Just a tad too progressive.
The centaur has the face of one of the boys from our town. He’s a smart boy, but somewhat lazy, in my opinion. All he does is sit around and write in a notebook. I asked him once what he wrote down. “Just stories,” he told me. I just nodded my head knowingly. Sooner or later, he’ll come around. He’ll get a job and grow out of that phase. I was in it once myself. Wrote some poetry around my senior year in high school. But I learned it wasn’t going to get me much of anywhere. It was a shame. People said they were good. But they were ultimately useless.
The centaur moves his pawn and traps my king. It’s a checkmate, no question about it. He looks up at smiles. I laugh, seeing how foolish I was to let a pawn get that close.
“It’s all right,” he tells me. “You’ll survive.”
“I guess so,” I say, and I get up to shake his hand. I’m polite. No use losing and then losing again by throwing a fit. “By the way, what were we playing for? I forgot.”
He smiles as he takes my hand. “The future.”
