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The Game MAG
In a pensive mood, he eyed the adjacent table.
She sat brooding, awaiting fate. "May I?" He asked, motioning toward the chess set. Pieces of plastic arranged neatly, yearning for the attentive mind. They were nothing more than plastic, nothing less than her reality.
"Of course," she replied with a pleasant smile. She had known he would eventually come, they all do. Humbly begging at her doorstep that leads to the beyond, enlightenment, thought she.
So the game began, as all casual games in the calm light of the afternoon, in a square of lost souls and sober minds. Gazing contentedly at the pieces before her, she contemplated and chose.
Concentrated was he, clouded was she. Her scarf wrapped at the neck was flowing in the summer breeze. His old sneakers tapped at the stones below the table. His plain face had yet to be stained by the warm sun, while hers was worn with the years of exposure.
Every move of his was well planned and effective. Her moves also showed great experience and subtle brilliance. But soon the moments between each move grew longer as she hesitated, unsure. Her thoughts drifted elsewhere into the realm of existence. She began to speak softly and he listened as the street music faded into the background of her voice.
Confused, he moved a piece, then regretted. His concentration had been stolen by her words. It was her turn, yet she did not notice this. She felt at ease and in control of the feeble mind seated in front of her. Her stories, phrases sputtered out inconsistently, grew twisted. She spoke of fire, of pain, and of death. He stared at her from the bottom of his eyes.
Minutes before, he thought someone else had been playing with him. It had been a kind old woman with composure. Now a monster sat with him relaying the devil's games. Her face appeared wan and ugly. He now noticed her clothes were rags that she wore with confidence and pride. She was disturbed, though before she had managed to feign sanity. He grew upset in her presence. He was annoyed with himself for creating these uncomfortable moments.
All this time the woman had been rambling on. She spoke what she believed the truth. For was this not what the young man had wanted - the answers to life. He surely had not sat for just a silly game on a beautiful day. She saw her words as insight into all - pure brilliance given to this timid man, for just a moment.
The moment lingered for some time, perhaps eternity. The pieces, which had long ago been disregarded, lay ominously upon the table. Suddenly it ended. The woman's voice trailed off and began to fade with her haggard image. She had departed proudly, sure that much had been learned on this quiet afternoon.
He sat with his head down. Sober thoughts could not deliver him from this humility. He looked at the pieces, and foolishly mourned the paradox. 1