The Writer Games | Once In A Lifetime & World Edition

An Image Is Worth A Thousand Words: Jace Miller

My hatred of chess began at a very young age.

Every evening after  dinner, well before my sisters were born, my father would call me into  his study, where he would always sit waiting for me behind his  chessboard.

I used to try and come  up with reasons to avoid going into the study. I even offered to help my  mother clear the table or wash dishes on multiple occasions just so  that I wouldn't have to play chess.

My father never let me get away with it.

I had no idea why he  insisted on trying to teach me to play the stupid board game. It's not  like it would ever come in handy in my life. And regardless of that, it  was boring as hell.

And yet, every evening  found me seated in the dimly lit study, surrounded by the musty smell of  old books, playing chess against my father.

I don't remember how old I was when I actually started enjoying it, but I know it was after my 13th birthday.

My father had had me  playing for years up to this point, and though I never enjoyed it, I  didn't complain. Out loud at least. I suffered in silence, for my dad's  sake, until the eve of my 13th birthday.

I sat in the dining room, all of my friends around me watching expectantly as I opened gift after gift.

I was anxious to see  what my father had purchased for me, since I overheard him speaking with  my mother the night before about how much money he spent on my gift.

When all of the presents  from my friends has been unwrapped, my father presented me with a  decent sized box, wrapped in a beautiful silver paper. I opened it  slowly, careful not to tear the paper. I felt so important, receiving  such an expensive gift from my father.

The paper falls away to  reveal a stunning pewter box, carved with and intricate, detailed  pattern. I had no idea what it could have been. I looked up at my father  excitedly, and he grinned back at me pridefuly. Something I never  expected to see from him.

Slowly, I lifted the lid from the pewter box and peeked inside.

It was a chess set.

The board was pewter,  like the box, but the pieces were solid crystal. I lifted a piece, the  white king, made from a milky quartz. It shimmered in the light.  Breathtaking. Against my will, my eyes brimmed with tears.

My friends all oohed and aahed, sliding in closer to get a better look. My mother came in with her camera to take a picture.

I sat silently.

Staring at the king in my hand.

Tears soundlessly falling down my cheeks.

With a cry of rage, I threw the king across the room, disgusted.

It hit the wall and shattered.

Everyone fell silent.

With another scream I  shoved the entire beautiful box from the table. Before it had time to  hit the ground, I pushed out of my seat and ran out the door. Just  before I left, I cast one final look at my father. The hurt, confused  expression on his face burned forever into my mind.

I didn't care.

I ran all the way down  the street to the neighborhood park. I was never one to play there, but  it was a nice place to think. I climbed to the top of the tallest slide  and sobbed in the silence.

I didn't understand why my father wanted so badly for me to play chess. It made no since at all.

And, my mind pointed out, my reaction made no sense either.

The proper thing for me  to do would be to go home and apologize to my father. Although I wasn't  sure what good that would do. My father had spent a fortune on that  chess set and I had destroyed it in a matter of moments. Yes, and  apology was in order.

However, being the  stubborn, selfish child that I was, I stayed at the top of that slide  until it was dark. After what I felt was a decent time away from home, I  walked back.

I snuck threw the back  door, not yet ready to face my father. I would wait until morning, I  decided. On my way up the stairs, I heard my mother and father talking  in the nursery, where my toddler little sisters slept.

I crept closer, trying to pick up on what they were saying.

".....just don't understand." My father's voice mumbled.

I moved a bit closer.

"Honey, I'm so sorry  that didn't go the way you had hoped, I don't know why Jace reacted that  way either, but you should have asked him what he wanted before buying  something so expensive." My mother responded softly.

After a moment, my hands were bloody but I didn't care. Suddenly, the light flicked on and my father. Stood in the archway.

"Papa..." I said—a name I hadn't called him in years—"Papa, I didn't know! I didn't mean to..."

Without a word, he  brushed the shards from my hands swept them up, and dumped them in the  trash. "What's done is done." He said, then flicked the lights back off  and went up the stairs.

***************

With an angry growl, I unsheathed my blade and slashed the large photograph in half.

"I fucking hate chess." I snapped at the Gamemaker, who stood there watching me in amusement, then I stormed from the museum.