Your Move

To say it was a windy was an understatement. From the whipping winds, roiling clouds, pouring rain, pieces of debris lancing through the air, plus the ever-present lightning and thunder one would think it was a scene from a storm documentary on National Geographic. Well, that, or a Hollywood disaster flick.

Based on the descriptions alone, anyone with even the slightest grasp of reality could conclude that it was most definitely not a good day to be playing chess in the park. Heck, to be outdoors at all. Then again, the subjects of the latter part of the first sentence and the word “reality” were on relative terms, to say the very least.

The said subjects were seated on either side of a small stone table, well, more of a podium actually. Bolted onto the podium was a magnetic chess set, which probably explained—however so slightly—why the pieces remained firmly on the set rather than flying through the air at well over a hundred kilometers per hour. Though, how the two chess players remained seated normally was something that required considerably more thinking to explain.

One of the players was a young man dressed in what looked like a classy grey suit. He sat looking stoically at the chess game, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his classy suit, necktie, and hair were whipping about like a fish out of water, soaked to the point of ruin. The other dressed in  pieces of clothing so mismatched in style and color that it would’ve given the more fashion-oriented some sort of stress-related medical problem. His face was twisted in what looked to be somewhere between tearful despondency and outright fury.

By now, you must be thinking that this isn’t quite a normal chess game at the park. Either that or that the author is a long-winded blowhard who just can’t get the point. In reply to the second one, I’m getting around to it. Just be patient, please. And if you hadn’t made the realization mentioned in this paragraph’s first sentence, I believe now would be the time to point out that both players looked exactly the same. Same to the point that the clonetroopers in Star Wars would be hard-pressed to follow.  

“Your move, I believe,” said the gray-suited figure, somehow speaking normally yet still being heard despite the howling of the wind.  

The other figure grunted in reply and slammed his chess piece upon making his move. The gray-suited one studied his opponent’s move for a moment before moving a rook into position.

“You know, Emotion, your current state is having an adverse effect on your game.”

“Stuff it, Logic,” Emotion snapped, grabbing another piece and slamming it down. “I don’t need any of your coaching, my game’s fine.”

“I beg to differ,” the gray-suited Logic replied, making another calm move. “Your performance is substandard compared to previous performances when you were in a somewhat less foul mood.”

“Well, sorry to be such a killjoy,” Emotion replied acidly, batting away the red scarf that was thrashing about in front of his face. “Kinda hard to be all smiles and giggles when you've just gone through yet another humiliation session.”

“Those bullies again, I see?” Logic asked, cocking his head to gesture at the violent weather around them. “That explains the little brainstorm, pardon the pun.”

“Why, darn it, why?! Of all the people they could pick on, why us in particular? Why? Why? WHY?!” Emotion demanded, his clothes lashing around as he smashed his queen down for emphasis.

Logic shrugged. “You have to admit, we’re not exactly the under-the-radar type. You can thank Quirkiness, Social Awkwardness, and Meekness for that. To the bully mindset, we practically scream ‘Victimize me.’”

“So we’re bullied just for being us? Is that what you’re saying?! That’s plain bull!”

“We are generally not considered ‘normal’ by the general populous, which—in itself—is already reason enough for social ostracizing. Coupled with physical inadequacy, in terms of our body strength, and the consequent inability to fight back, the answer to your question is unfortunately a resounding yes.”

“Thanks you so much, Spock,” Emotion spat, making yet another violent chess move. “It makes me so farkin’ ecstatic to hear we’re a natural-born punching bag.”

“Look on the bright side, we are providing a mode of release for whatever inadequacies or insecurities that serve as the impetus for those acts of bullying. We’re probably keeping those bullies sane, isn’t that a good thing?”

Emotion shot him a venomous-look. “A good thing? A good thing?! You’re saying this torture and humiliation is supposed to be something GOOD?!!!”

As if to accentuate Emotion’s outrage, several cruel-looking forks of lightning smashed into the ground around them, immediately followed by deafening explosions of thunder. Logic gave a cursory look at the flashes that would’ve made Zeus proud before turning back to face Emotion. He shrugged imperturbably and moved a knight to take out one of his opponent’s pawns.

“I was only joking. Doesn’t anyone appreciate deadpan humor anymore?”

Emotion regarded him crossly, making yet another rash chess move. “This is no joking matter! This is something that could adversely effect our emotional growth and well-being leaving us to grow up to be a maladjusted, wimpy little loser with zero self-esteem and only Internet ‘buddies’ to talk to!”

“Hm, well, maybe for the rest of our high school and college year,” Logic shrugged. “But research data does suggest that the more ‘popular’ or at least dominant people in high school and college usually grow-up to live unexceptional, unsatisfying lives wishing for long-past glory days. On the other hand, the ‘losers’ often end up as movers and shakers of society living with the smug satisfaction of knowing that they live better lives than their former tormentors.”

“Pft, you just got that from TV.”

“Well, TV data has been correct for a remarkably fair amount of the time.” Logic said dryly, he nudged his queen a little. “Checkmate.”

“YOU’RE NOT TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY!!!” Emotion screamed, banging his fists on the chess set. Chess pieces were caught by the wind and sent flying as they were dislodged from the magnetic surface by the furious pounding of Emotion’s fists.

“Hm, it seems we’ll have to start this game all over again.” Logic noted with the same maddening dispassion he had displayed since the beginning of the game. “I’ll gather the pieces while you calm down.”

Logic stood up and disappeared into the mental tempest, casually ducking a twisted car door that zipped past. Emotion stewed in his seat blankly staring at Logic’s now-empty chair—which had somehow not gone flying like nearly everything else—muttering unintelligibly. He almost wished Imagination had been with them so that he could picture out the fantasies of violent retribution he was thinking up in his rage. His fists clenched and unclenched as he seethed through gritted teeth. As if in agreement, the storm became even more vicious.

An indefinite while later, the storm seemed to have mellowed out. The rain had reduced to a drizzle, the clouds weren’t as dark and foreboding, and the only things flying around were leaves and pieces of plastic and paper instead of trees and building components. Emotion had slumped in his seat, feeling—as everyone felt after an intense anger-trip—spent and tired.

As if on cue a wind-and-rain-blasted, but otherwise unharmed, Logic reappeared. Clutched in his hands were the all of the chess pieces. Somehow, he had recovered all of them despite the brutality of the weather earlier. He methodically placed the chess pieces on their default positions before sitting down.

“Well, let’s start again,” Logic said, as if nothing had happened. “You first.”

Emotion stared blankly at the chess table for a while before finally moved a pawn halfheartedly.  “Sorry about what I did earlier…” He mumbled almost inaudibly.

“You were very upset,” Logic said, shrugging. “It’s understandable that you lost your temper.”

Emotion just made a non-committal burble as he made another lackadaisical move. “Sometimes, I think things would be better off without me. I bet you’d run a pretty decent operation, what with your cold, hard logic and all.”

“Maybe,” Logic said, raising both his eyebrows. “But then, who would I play chess with? Memory’s plays are obsolete, Reflex’s knee-jerk tactics are too predictable, Imagination’s head just isn’t in the game… Well, you get my point.”

Despite himself, Emotion smiled and shook his head. “You really are something, you know that?”

“Yes. I’m a fictional representation of an abstract intellectual construct, as are you.” Logic answered. “Your move, I believe.”

END