Match In the Dark

What a game ... he was just a jester, and this a ghastly prospect ... The ground lay torn open before him, a wound in the earth that called to his dark heart, pulled on his better judgement like lead ... warm, that shadowy keep ... warm and peaceful, if but a plunge away ... He turned back around to the game board, it's alternate squares dancing ... monochromatic patchwork of fealty and fate, with just seven solid forms left atop it ... only two were his, King and Pawn ... Hopeless barter for the formidable Whites - King, Knight, Rook, Pawn, and yes, the opposing Queen - he was bound on all sides, with but one last rattling gasp due ... unless ... he looked back at the crevasse ... The torn black gape smiling at him ... whispering, tender: "All is lost, give yourself to the grim dispassion, soft and irenic, that which waits ... rest ... yes, tranquil rest ... and deep, deep abiding sleep" ... Death waited on both sides like cold bookends ... though the gash in the ground offered serene and painless silence, (and the expunging of all his misdeeds), not so, the black-winged specter he faced in strategy ... That end would be assuredly excruciating. He looked once more to the black, fathomless abyss ... reaching back with one leg, (as if to dip his toes in a puddle, dark), he drew up to the board and made his penultimate move ... The sacrifice had worked, you see ... and in his rush to take the Black Majesty, Death had been hastily negligent, committing one very careless act ... the jester moved his pawn to crown it ... the final move was not required - "sauce for the goose" ... Death trembled in rage, put his head back and screamed at the sky, (as if heaven cared a wit for his haughty displeasure) ... he looked at the jester briefly, a snarl curling his lip, and wagged his index finger ... transforming it to a feather as he did ... The rest of his body followed suit, as he slowly came to his full, hideous form - a raven, so black that it devoured the light around it, and brought a frost to the air and ground nearby ... the jester shivered in his spine, watching ... Like a scraggly old man, the now immense bird shuffled and scraped its crooked talons to the chess board, knocked over its remaining pieces in defeat ... and flew into the yawning fissure, swallowed by the coal black earth that closed in behind it ... Breathing a sigh of relief ... the jester watched, transfixed, as there, in the dark soil and ash that had filled the ragged hole, up popped a tiny green sprout ... of new life. ~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Clown At The Abyss" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor. ~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Oh What The Hell - Just Toss One In" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.