When you look into the mirror, what do you see? You, right?
But what if I told you it’s not your reflection staring back—it’s the version of yourself you wish existed? The one who stands taller, whose eyes hold a spark of light unclouded by doubt, whose smile feels real. The one who feels whole.
You touch the mirror, as if reaching for them might somehow bring them closer, but the glass stays cool and unyielding. The reflection doesn’t falter; it waits. And as you pull your hand away, the question lingers: Is this the person you’ll always see, or is this the person you’ll finally become?
When I used to look into the mirror, I saw someone who had been through so much and come out the other side. I saw resilience. Strength. Survival.
But when I went to basic training, the mirror shattered, and I saw what I really was. A person who longed to play chess with death himself—not to win, but to lose. I moved each piece with quiet desperation, hoping my king would fall, and that the game would finally end.
However, with every piece I moved, every ounce of hopelessness and helplessness drained from my body and transferred into the pawns, knights, and bishops. It was as if the weight of my despair shifted with each turn.
Yet death played defensively—not out of fear, but with intention. He knew this game couldn’t end too soon. He needed me to keep playing, to purge the darkness from within me piece by piece. With every move, he created space—not for more pain, but for something I hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages: hope.
He wasn’t trying to win. He was teaching me to fight. Slowly, the longing to live began to grow, pushing aside the despair, and reminding me that there was still a purpose waiting for me on the other side of the board.
As the game continued, I noticed something strange—death was changing. Not emotionally, but physically. With each move, a sliver of light emerged, and his garments shifted from black to white. His form grew less ominous, more serene as if the weight of the game was transforming him as much as it was transforming me.
By the time the final move was made, I had won. But the figure across from me was no longer death. It was Jesus. He gazed at me with forgiving, understanding eyes, his presence radiating warmth and peace.
“You have won this game, my son,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “Now you understand—it is not death you desire but the companionship of another. Someone who will stand by your side, defend you, and help you shed the hopelessness within. Not so you can merely survive, but so you can truly live.
We all choose what we see in the mirror. But it’s not enough to stop at the surface. It’s our responsibility to look deeper, beyond the reflection, and confront what lurks behind our eyes.
Only then can we begin to play the game with whatever it is we long for—whether it’s hope, peace, or understanding. And through that game, through that confrontation, perhaps our own transformation will emerge. A transformation that not only helps us endure but gives us the strength to overcome whatever we’re going through.
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,738 Reviews
This immediately captivated me. I found myself envisioning this, because usually when I look in the mirror all I see is the worst version of myself, so starting with a question just grabs the reader and forced them to engage with the ideas in your piece.
The first two paragraphs are addressed to 'you' and it made me think it was going to continue that way, a dialogue between the 'i' of the narrator and the 'you' of the reader, but it stopped after that. I think that would enhance it a little bit so the reader can continue engaging.
This part of the chess metaphor stood of for me. Taking it literally, as someone who is very bad at chess, it's like when my friend tried to teach me for the first time, and kept winning over and over of course, but with each loss I did get a little better at the game. This a really strong metaphor.
I'm not religious or anything, but I do find comfort in the stories of Jesus, and I think it was a great way to explore religion in the piece. But I agree with Helvetia's review that you could strengthen the transition to talking about faith and whether you are focusing on the chess or the religious aspect/metaphors in the piece.
Intriguing!
The chess metaphor immediately stood out to me! A game with death is very evocative and surprisingly effective. It says a lot about fate. It’s layered with so much potential meaning: agency, strategy, surrender, and the negotiation between despair and hope. I think the slow transformation of death into Jesus is an unexpected twist, but it goes nicely with the fundamentals of chess. That in itself is theological to some degree, so I understand its role in this story.
I do, however, believe the transition to faith is underdeveloped. The shift from death to Jesus is compelling, but it feels a bit abrupt for my liking. It comes out of nowhere. Death transforming into a figure of salvation does work since it's philosophical. Though, it does feel like an afterthought. It could benefit from more groundwork earlier in the narrative to set the pace for the rest of the plot. You could have a very deep metaphor, but that isn't given to us in the story.
Are you focusing on the chess aspect of the narrative, or the religious aspect of it? I suggest playing with perspective if you don't know right away. The narrator's stance is clear, but I can't figure out the intention behind this.
All the best!