Reflections on Chess

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Index & NewsWritingWebcomicsProgrammingArtworkAll ElseLinks & Mail I look over my chess board, my Queen stands with her loyal rook, ready to drive home the thrust on the Black King. My own King stands with the last of the White Knights to defend him. War is so clean and simple on the chess board. No horrific weapons lie hidden on the field, nor is there any butchery on the field of battle. It is war perfectly bivalent, dead vs not-dead, no states of injury between, no pain, no blood.

I pick up a pawn, a foot soldier doomed to forever walk forward to be cut down. Once again this piece was lost, this time to a hole in my opponent's defense. In a few minutes, he will begin his march again, and again fall in battle.

The field of battle is clear, nothing is obscured against the perfect squares; A perfection only matched by the symmetry of the pieces. So proud the armies were but ten minutes ago. The King and Queen watching over a sea of supporters. Now most of those lie off to the side, casualties of the game. The remaining pieces, no longer proudly arrayed, are scattered into small groups, relying on one another like wounded veterans.

And from the graveyard off to the side the pieces will again return to their places to perform their deaths over and over again.

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