\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2009370-The-Mad-Chess-Player---Psychosis
Item Icon
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: 18+ · Draft · Young Adult · #2009370
Story about a veteran in NYC who does $1 chess games but has a scary bent.
The tall, black man leaned back in his fold-out chair in front of his chess table like there could never be anything as bad as the war he experienced in Vietnam. For this vet, the busy Union Square of New York City past midnight, full of break dancers and youth doing what they do without parents around, was never cause enough to even look around his shoulder. Godamnit, if it was lead shooting faster than the speed of sound, then it still wouldn't be reason enough because his brains would be all over the chess pieces in front of him. Scary how craziness, a very broad term is contagious. A wide smile stretches open to show big, white teeth in an area barely lit.

"Hey, man." A passerby sits down at the crazy vet's chess table. "Let me have one of those Newports."

Smiling at the single dollar, "You know it's illegal for me to be selling cigarettes like this." The words came out like a father vying for public opinion, that big, warm smile never leaving his face as his eyes looked the passerby dead in the face or aside it into space.

"I know. It's for the game." The long, Newport 100 gets set aflame at the end and puffs of dissipating smoke rise from the man's cheeks.

"Hehehehe." They're deep and friendly, small laughs like a fair-weather friend. "That's right." The vet kicks his jeaned legs forward, exposing somewhat clean, white sneakers, and leans his body way back. The warm smile never goes anywhere.

While the passerby looks over his row of pawns, his castles, his bishops and so forth, puffing on his cigarette, the vet is called over by his friend, another black man, who looks more towards homeless with his pajama pants, purple shirt, and unkempt, partially greying afro. The vet stands like a knight next to the shorter, older, and disheveled man and leans into his words, nodding his head at the passerby sitting at his table.

The vet sits his tall body back into the fold-up chair across the man, the smile scarily just a tad less enthusiastic. "We're done here." The vet's eyes balls twitch looking around at the table and finally back up at the man, and the full smile returned. "Maybe another time."

© Copyright 2014 Yamakito (yamakito at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2009370-The-Mad-Chess-Player---Psychosis