The final battle

The old man studied the playing field ahead of him. This was difficult, a close call. One wrong move and it would all be over. The young general in front of him would smile his smug smile and parade up and down in his strange manner.

He looked up and stared into his opponent's eyes. The smile had already begun at the corners of the young man's mouth. "Make your move, old man" he said in little more than a whisper.

The old man raised his hand. His shadow shook over the black and white board. His palsy had gotten worse over the few weeks since their last battle. He lowered his hand to the only black rook on the board. Slowly he moved it towards a white pawn. Once he would have taken that pawn in a sweeping movement, almost too fast for the eye to see. His fingers weren't as quick anymore, but his mind was. Carefully, slowly, he replaced the white pawn with his rook. "Checkmate" he whispered back.

Two brown eyes stared down at the board, the eyebrows above them knotted in confusion. Then the eyes widened and the youngster was looking at the old man incredulously. No longer was it a smile on his lips but a 'how?'

The young man stood angrily, knocking chessmen to the floor. He turned swiftly and stalked away. "Next time, old man. Next time!"

Left alone the old man smiled to himself. Not the smug smile he had expected from the youngster but a calm, knowing smile. He looked down at his still shaking hand and sighed. This victory was bitter sweet.

"There won't be a next time, son" he whispered after the young man, as a nurse came over to wheel him away.