A Game of Chess

Snippet

There he was, not at the table but at the end of his bed. The pleasant smell of rain lingered in the air yet the breeze seemed to be amiss. Perhaps it was lost in itself, perhaps it stopped just outside the window of his room and went into self-contemplation. What was taking place within was no different. He, after all it seemed he was invisible to the world then why bother naming him; he was just another face.

He jotted down the ramblings of his mind on a piece of paper in an attempt to let it all out or maybe in an attempt to rub it off of his memory.

'A life of turmoil, self-made or otherwise, makes one seek solace and comfort even in the empty words of people we are unsure about...But where to run but to a friend, even if seemingly so. You can't trust anybody, you fight with yourself, you fight with others, you try to live but, at the end, it only seems like breathing. All of one's life - inhaling, exhaling; making a hole in the world, taking much more than one can give to it, to anybody....feeling so much devoid of ability that movement seems disability. It is to no purpose, of no use...in this all-consuming world not even a bit of feigning, transitory goal of life. Just breathing, waiting for the heart to give up, drag one to dust and smiling a couple of times in-between, maybe in forgetfulness or rather, to forget it all.

A quiet murmur in the heart- your breath, the air-you have to breathe.'

A swirl within and without; a force so reckoning that it could take down walls yet, it failed to go past the mesh and the mind.