The One Game

Two men sat in a park playing chess. The tree over their heads provided enough shade that the hot moist air could not touch them. They were old, the one playing white with a lined, aged face and blue eyes, the one with black with a wrinkles and eyes that turned from green to blue to grey depending on the light. Both were focused, crinkles on their foreheads, eyes darting from one piece to another, envisioning multiple futures and outcomes of each move. They had come here to this park every Saturday to play a game for the last several decades. Before them, another pair sat in those very spots, and before them another pair, and so on and so forth until the day chess came to be discovered, not invented, by humans. And then there were pairs before that as well. Nature thrives on opposites. Stasis can not exist. Light must have darkness. Water must have fire. One side must have an opposite, an opponent.

The men sat as the sun blazed and slowly became tampered by the moon yawning and stretching out into the horizon as the sun dipped into the horizon as they danced their eternal dance. The sky was painted with hues of red, orange, and yellow. Birds chirped as they made their way to their nests, to settle in for the night. People murmured as they walked homewards. The lights started to turn on, dim at first, then bright. The game continued.

The players kept playing, silent, focused, eyes on the board. A shudder, a pitter patter on the pavement, and then three steps in rapid succession, as if someone was tapping their toes on the ground. They both looked up, anticipation strong. In unison, they turned to the shadows besides the old poplar tree. A man appeared from the shadows, a strange sort of man. You could not keep your eyes on him. They would sort of slide off when you tried to look at him. His face was constantly shifting, but unmoving. It seemed even, that you could look straight through him.

The man appeared, and a hush went through the forest, the few animals that were awake became silent, holding their breath lest he see or smell them. The vision became dulled, dark, a haze spreading through the world around him. Sounds became muted, whether it was out of fear or some unique ability he had. He stood in front of the two, it was hard to remain focused on him. He blinked in and out of existence.

He spoke, it was as if the words were cutting through the haze, surrounded by one of their own. It felt like he was hissing, chills slithering up the spine, yet no sounds reached the air. The brain formed the words he meant to convey on its own. “It has been done.”

No other words were needed. He vanished without ceremony, the streetlights flickered on. The animals let go of their breaths, a collective sigh escaped the creatures in the park. The men went back to the game. The one playing black rubbed his hands, almost as if keeping warm.