The Black And White World Of Chess

Naomi preferred the chessboard to reality. When playing, every piece and every rule is precise. Away from the game, nothing seems certain. Why am I feeling these emotions, and what do they mean? Did he really say that? Could this really be happening?

The only deviations in chess come from unexpected moves, whether it's double exclamation point brilliance or a tragic blunder that would have seemed inconceivable from a player of such caliber, they still exist within the framework of the board.

So how can it hurt more to be betrayed by someone you love than to lose a match?

Game

Steven was playing from behind from the start. Every time he made a play to get within striking distance, the deficit grew to the point it seemed out of reach. It didn't matter how aggressively he attacked or how ferociously he defended, the cards were always stacked against him.

If Steven had an opportunity to reflect, he might have suspected someone had rigged the outcome so there was no way of winning. However, that realization was simply too cruel to contemplate, and it hadn't crossed his mind until it was too late.

Steven never even heard his opponent call game.

Limits

This can only last so long. There’s stuff I have to do. I gotta catch up on work and go for a run still today. I have papers due by midnight and I just put a pizza in the oven. I don’t have time for this. My friend keeps texting me “get on the game.” This can only last so long. I’m organizing due dates, scheduling movie nights with friends and stuttering replies to my mother. This can only last so long. My phone lights up with her face again, but like this poem love can only last so long.

From Guest Contributor Anonymous

I’d prefer to remain anonymous however I’d like to say a little about myself. I am not a writer but a teenage kid trying to graduate. I enjoy thinking deeply and taking the chance to put my thoughts on a page in a creative writing class is nice.

Deja Vu

Deja vu... To see something happen over again. What does it mean? If one believes in the Old Testament God, maybe a chance of salvation.

That is the question of time. To see the Bible change - they call it the Mandela Effect. However, my monkeys are pretty, and here they only fly, fly, fly... Making this a surreal game of who is real and what is happening.

In a closed time-curved loop - people could change. And yet? If I am from the future, this is the past. And? Nothing changed. Just a time traveler ranting: do not use thermonuclear weapons.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Losers

It was the last inning in an adult softball playoff game. We were behind by two runs. I had gotten a walk, which filled the bases. The next batter could tie or win the game. The manager replaced two of us with pinch runners, which caused our second and third outs for batting out of order. Many people thought that I was a good runner. Pinch runners were supposed to be used for the injured. I had objected to being subbed out, and this time it ensured our loss. I didn’t say it out loud, but I quit softball then.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Payback

On their Golden Anniversary, he started calling her by different names and nicknames on a random basis – Stewie and Stewbabe, Audrey, Boobala, Doc, Squig, and so on – knowing he’d never forget her real name, but figuring that when he finally reached the peak of Mt. Alzheimer he’d be able to cover it up a little longer, give her less to worry about.

One morning, she asked him, “Did you sleep well, ummm…” hesitating as if trying to recall his name.

“Yes I did,” he replied, frowning at her smile.

After that, he knew he’d never play the alias game again.From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO

Angel

My father always says Christmas is a time for family not gift giving. Me and my wife Lili tell my son the same, and it doesn’t fly. So, now I’m driving to the electronics store in the snow to purchase an Xbox video game.

His grades are excellent, and he cleans his room, so we figure, why not splurge, it’s Christmas season after all.

I enter the store and it’s busy with shoppers. There on the front table I see the game he wants. I nearly collapse at the price tag.

Now I know why he’s been such an angel.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Not Roadrunner

A few years ago, editor and I visited Malheur Refuge in remote Southeast Oregon. This was before the infamous “occupation” by a fringe group. We got a visual treat starring a coyote and a pheasant. The coyote would approach the pheasant and the pheasant would fly fifty feet out of range. The coyote would approach again; the pheasant would fly off again. Neither party seemed particularly excited. It seemed they may have played this game regularly. We watched for a few minutes, but we had other things to do, and it appeared that this game could go on for hours.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Vanity

There was a man I knew. He thought himself very clever and asserted he was better than me. His wrongs were a count of never (despite his relations often severed), and he swore he despised all lies. He would never show his heart, for if he had, we would plainly see a cruel and twisted thing failing his acclaim to measure. Many shared his only aim was to play people as pawns in his game. Misery was all his company could bring. Now he calls, and I neglect to answer. If perfection is his alone, I’d rather not the pleasure!

From Guest Contributor Jessah Rutledge

Jessah is a Marketing and Admin Assistant for a Realty Company and a Pikes Peak Community College student studying Fine Arts and Writing.

Temperature Rising

Rudder lay on the trainer’s table writhing in agony. His throwing arm was swollen to bulbous proportions. A nasty, blistering rash spread from his wrist to his shoulder. His body convulsed with chills, a fever of 105°.

“Have you been self-treating again?” the team doctor asked.

“Just some analgesic balm. The big game’s on Sunday and my arm’s killing me. I need to be ready.”

“How much balm?”

“Four tubes.”

“What! The body can’t absorb that much!”

“Will I be okay by kickoff?”

“There’s no way you’re playing!” the doctor said. “You’ve got a severe case of Ben Gay Fever!”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own and It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!