Post by Nate on Apr 18, 2011 16:07:24 GMT -8
An entire room in Tony's apartment is reserved solely for chess games. Games so old that dust lay an inch thick, others that have just begun and not a single piece yet lost. Several boards were pushed together, and the pieces were jumbled together in a chaotic struggle. More matches were held on the wall by Velcro or strong magnets.
Tony took a deep breath to clear his head of pain and hate, and began to sort out the movements. Every piece had a name beyond its title, every game reflected a real-world problem. He looked beyond the visible, and began to walk from board to board, advancing each game as he passed by.
So many things in motion, so many problems left unresolved, he thought to himself, as muttering to oneself is mildly difficult without the bottom of one's jaw.
Pray tell, what's the point of gathering knowledge if one is punished for speaking one's mind? What is the point of rank and power if it is turned against allies? Can people not see that a King can loose to a pawn as quickly as a Queen? To prove the point, he forced a checkmate with a black pawn. In the same night, I'm accused of being corrupted, grabbed by the throat for less then a sentence, lost my jaw to something more then a concern, and even after I've lost the ability to speak, I'm still misunderstood. Frustrating, to say the least.
Tony had finally worked his way to the center of the room, where a beautiful table of chrome and glass held a place of honor. A matching chess board was set into the top, every part of it a master-work piece of art. He set the board back to opening positions, and thought. Not for the first time, he could almost see a great mystery revealed. It seemed that with every movement, each piece played it's own game, a crucial part of the whole. And Tony himself felt as if he was being moved around a larger board, part of something gigantic and unknowable. But that might not be the truth in question.
Corruption. What an odd notion. In the strictest sense of the word, the simple feeling of want would make one corrupted. And I have wanted, for most of my life. Who hasn't? I have wanted to be a part of something larger then me, ever since I was young. I have wanted to be useful to something before the game ends. I've wanted, desperately desired, to give away this wretched fate of mine.
Do you know what it feels like to know that you are going to die young? Probably. Now imagine that you know, with every fiber of your being, that you are going to die alone, and probably screaming. Just like my Father, caught in a trap that even he didn't see. Just like my Mother, who followed not much later in a failed attempt of vengeance. Leaving her only son. Alone.
Again.
An interesting thought. Am I unwanted or unneeded? Is it possible for one to travel across an entire country and never find a place where he fits? Is it possible to be born for absolutely no purpose? Oh well, ultimately irrelevant to the problem at hand.
Scapegoat, monster, worthless, the bad-guy, these are things I've never wanted to be. But still, I'm labeled with all of them, and more. Another interesting thought. Reality is nothing more then perception. But that adage goes both ways. How long would it take to be seen as something before the projection becomes that person? How segregated must one be, before he willingly takes up the mantle of that which he knows is madness?
Tony looks down at the results of the pondering and game. Only the Kings remained. One made of flawless glass, perfectly transparent. The other of smooth metal, only reflecting what was around it, never showing anything of itself. He made the mistake of trying to rest his now non-existent chin in his palm. The sudden swell of pain ensured that the mistake only lasted a moment. Still long enough to bring tears to Tony's eyes.
Which one is my future? Which one will I be allowed, forced, to become? Until I can truly know . . .
I won't say a word. I can't. Never again.
Tony took a deep breath to clear his head of pain and hate, and began to sort out the movements. Every piece had a name beyond its title, every game reflected a real-world problem. He looked beyond the visible, and began to walk from board to board, advancing each game as he passed by.
So many things in motion, so many problems left unresolved, he thought to himself, as muttering to oneself is mildly difficult without the bottom of one's jaw.
Pray tell, what's the point of gathering knowledge if one is punished for speaking one's mind? What is the point of rank and power if it is turned against allies? Can people not see that a King can loose to a pawn as quickly as a Queen? To prove the point, he forced a checkmate with a black pawn. In the same night, I'm accused of being corrupted, grabbed by the throat for less then a sentence, lost my jaw to something more then a concern, and even after I've lost the ability to speak, I'm still misunderstood. Frustrating, to say the least.
Tony had finally worked his way to the center of the room, where a beautiful table of chrome and glass held a place of honor. A matching chess board was set into the top, every part of it a master-work piece of art. He set the board back to opening positions, and thought. Not for the first time, he could almost see a great mystery revealed. It seemed that with every movement, each piece played it's own game, a crucial part of the whole. And Tony himself felt as if he was being moved around a larger board, part of something gigantic and unknowable. But that might not be the truth in question.
Corruption. What an odd notion. In the strictest sense of the word, the simple feeling of want would make one corrupted. And I have wanted, for most of my life. Who hasn't? I have wanted to be a part of something larger then me, ever since I was young. I have wanted to be useful to something before the game ends. I've wanted, desperately desired, to give away this wretched fate of mine.
Do you know what it feels like to know that you are going to die young? Probably. Now imagine that you know, with every fiber of your being, that you are going to die alone, and probably screaming. Just like my Father, caught in a trap that even he didn't see. Just like my Mother, who followed not much later in a failed attempt of vengeance. Leaving her only son. Alone.
Again.
An interesting thought. Am I unwanted or unneeded? Is it possible for one to travel across an entire country and never find a place where he fits? Is it possible to be born for absolutely no purpose? Oh well, ultimately irrelevant to the problem at hand.
Scapegoat, monster, worthless, the bad-guy, these are things I've never wanted to be. But still, I'm labeled with all of them, and more. Another interesting thought. Reality is nothing more then perception. But that adage goes both ways. How long would it take to be seen as something before the projection becomes that person? How segregated must one be, before he willingly takes up the mantle of that which he knows is madness?
Tony looks down at the results of the pondering and game. Only the Kings remained. One made of flawless glass, perfectly transparent. The other of smooth metal, only reflecting what was around it, never showing anything of itself. He made the mistake of trying to rest his now non-existent chin in his palm. The sudden swell of pain ensured that the mistake only lasted a moment. Still long enough to bring tears to Tony's eyes.
Which one is my future? Which one will I be allowed, forced, to become? Until I can truly know . . .
I won't say a word. I can't. Never again.