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Description
He thought I wouldn’t notice.
Between laughing in hallways and on stairwells, he played the game well. He understood his place, his role, and he had the kind of mind that calculated steps long before any moves had been played. He situated his pieces with such care and such acute accuracy that there was no margin of error, no trace of intentions, and no hint of his impending victory. And he reveled in this knowledge, this game which he understood and could comprehend with such effortless skill. Flying under a radar he owned.
He thought it was an exact science.
Something he could predict, something he could control and something he could maneuver. Like pieces of polished wood and carefully painted boards, it was a game he could win. If he avoided counterattacks and found loopholes where none should be, then all was well and all was sound. There was a time, though, there was a time when just for a moment his resolve slipped. And the piece fumbled and the tactic crumbled. Straight lines of attack mocking a flawless board. Taunting him in his error, in his mistake, rows of defeat.
He thought it was an exact science.
Something he could control. A game that had each piece and each piece working in agreement, and each agreement set in stone. To lose a piece, a little of his game, acute accuracy lost, there was no maneuver that could undo this move. This error, this blunder, this human
fault.
And rows across a defeated board, a losing board, spoke bold words. Spoke bold words and drew gutless ambitions. Ambitions too deep to endure.

Description
He thought I wouldn’t notice.
Between laughing in hallways and on stairwells, he played the game well. He understood his place, his role, and he had the kind of mind that calculated steps long before any moves had been played. He situated his pieces with such care and such acute accuracy that there was no margin of error, no trace of intentions, and no hint of his impending victory. And he reveled in this knowledge, this game which he understood and could comprehend with such effortless skill. Flying under a radar he owned.
He thought it was an exact science.
Something he could predict, something he could control and something he could maneuver. Like pieces of polished wood and carefully painted boards, it was a game he could win. If he avoided counterattacks and found loopholes where none should be, then all was well and all was sound. There was a time, though, there was a time when just for a moment his resolve slipped. And the piece fumbled and the tactic crumbled. Straight lines of attack mocking a flawless board. Taunting him in his error, in his mistake, rows of defeat.
He thought it was an exact science.
Something he could control. A game that had each piece and each piece working in agreement, and each agreement set in stone. To lose a piece, a little of his game, acute accuracy lost, there was no maneuver that could undo this move. This error, this blunder, this human
fault.
And rows across a defeated board, a losing board, spoke bold words. Spoke bold words and drew gutless ambitions. Ambitions too deep to endure.