Posts Tagged ‘checkmate’


Checkmate  The air was filled with the smell of tobacco. Steve had been smoking his pipe for the       last one hour. He had been sitting in the comforts of the heat of angethi. He was lying lazily in his rocking chair reading ‘A brief history of time’ well at least his eyes were on it. His brain was a wandering dog. For once or twice his coach’s advice had come to his mind but he ignored it. He gently blew out the smoke. The previous morning his coach had advised him to look at the previous games of Paul on the net. He had to learn Paul’s strategies and modify his own to beat Paul. But he had ignored the advice. He was too proud to listen to the coach. After all what was the coach? He was only an old fool. He   had won all previous games of the championship, he could beat Paul. His chain of thoughts was broken by the flickering light of the angethi. The clock stuck twelve. It  was after half an hour that the angethi’s flame was out. Steve was too tired to replace the coal. He decided to sleep, his eyelid became heavy. Steve had come to India to play the finals of the ‘World Chess Championship (W.C.C)’. His competitor, the other finalist was Paul Anderson from Ireland. The previous game’s stats favored Steve. Experts said Steve had a better chance of winning. Paul himself had admitted that Steve was better as a player than him. Perhaps these were the facts that had inflated Steve’s ego. Steven Flo had been representing England in the game. He was a new comer in the world of international chess. Steve knew if he loses, his career was over, well at least those who didn’t get a chance to represent England would make sure that his career was tore apart to bits.
The next morning, the sun’s rays penetrated Steve’s eyelids. He woke up with a start. Today was an important day for him. Today either he would attain eternal glory or would become a disgrace for England. The pressure on him was even more because England couldn’t loss from an eastern country like Ireland and more over England was a champion for the last 6 years. It was not only a game it was a quest for glory.
At about 8 at night the people of Ireland switched on the TV a satisfactory smile lit their faces the headlines were ‘Paul beats Steven Flo to win the finals of W.C.C’…
Steve was sitting in his chair, the clock stuck 11. He was smoking his pipe. He had lost the championship. It was not a close win by Ireland. It was perhaps the quickest game in the history of international chess. His career was over, he was over. Could he face the anger of his fans? Could he face his mentor and coach? Could he face anyone in England? Panic washed over him like icy cold water. He was a disgrace to his country. Despair and helplessness filled him up. Then suddenly an option came to his mind. He considered it. Yes said a voice from back of his head. He got up and went to his suitcase and picked up his pistol, placed it on his chest and pulled the trigger. Steve fell, blood oozed out of his chest. His pager beeped, he reached his breast pocket for it. He cleaned the blood on it with a struggling hand. He read it with difficulty it was from his mentor it read ’Success is a lousy teacher it seduces men into thinking they can’t lose’. Everything went black…