New Fiction
Having been blocked since November, scribblemoose's writing prompt workshop at Squeefest hit me like a foam bat and I was away! The prompt that chose me was the handful of miniature dominoes.
Endgame
Arnheim, 26-07-08
He placed another tile on the board, with a pleasing click. The Nine of Leaves; the Ash, winning the House. Not so pleasing.
I might say that he allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his thin lips, as he surveyed the new pattern formed. I would say it, but his satisfaction, his pleasure in the game, seemed to be so profound, so uninterrupted by changes in fortune, that I was starting to believe it was genuine, unaffected.
No. Not with these stakes.
I remained cautious, hoarding my more powerful pieces, playing only lesser Stones and Waters while he continued to lavish Named tiles on mere secondary Houses. I could imagine him to be overconfident, but never rash, so my conviction grew that he had a much stronger hand. I would have cursed the Dealer, if I had had the courage. I played more meanly than ever, sacrificing House after House to preserve my Names.
I fought to keep my focus but found my attention drawn to each ancient Tintype on the wall and the empty eyes of each silent face there. Every movement of the curtains in the breathless air caught my attention. I found myself wondering if I should have risked wearing the ring the Lady gave me. Much worse, like an amateur, I kept picturing myself as I lost: perhaps I would swear, perhaps smile carelessly. Perhaps I would thank him with a quiet handshake, perhaps…
Doubt, caution, fear, despair. We had entered Endgame.
As we began the final level, he now played dross, throwing away each Tower as it was completed and, steadily, I took control of the higher board. Yet his devilish smile remained to mock me, to goad me as I seized what I could in desperation. I should not have been surprised when I triumphantly completed a full Palace with my strongest tile, the Grey Mountain, the Crown of Stones, only to have the Dealer point out that the Minor House below it could not support a Major Tower. An error unworthy of a novice.
As the Dealer removed both Tower and House, they unmade the next, and that the next. My Palace fell, my Towers in ruins and he was left with dominion over all the humble Houses on the board. While I had hesitated, his true Endgame had already been played upon my fear.
I smiled carelessly as the Dealer acknowledged the winner and patiently removed each tile, returning them to their appointed places beneath the board. I looked down to speculate upon what remained of my hand, but it had already been taken away. I offered the victor my hand as he tilted back his chair to stretch his thin frame languidly, but he glanced at the Dealer, shook his head and finally spoke.
"Not that it would change a jot of what has passed, or what is planned, but I know and you know that you do not really want to shake my hand."
My head was light. The curtains shook like sails in an upstart breeze. The copper eyes in the silent faces on the wall regarded me without expression. I didn't notice the Dealer leave. I gestured at the stakes left piled on what was now an otherwise empty table, as if graciously offering what was no longer mine. For the first time his quiet amusement broke into a flashing smile, so bright and full of unashamed pride that I felt it quite overwhelm me and swallow my petty misfortunes as he unfolded from his seat and rose, saying:
"The stakes placed on the table were never those we played for. Promises and words mean nothing, no matter whose. You knew the true stakes when you came - your loss must now be paid for. The question you must ask yourself is: why you played to lose?"
~~~~~
I wrote this over the course of the Saturday afternoon and tinkered with it the following day. I edited it two days ago as and after I dictated it to my computer.
Specific Feedback: Any feedback welcome. I am particularly interested to know if the game mechanics are too intrusive or unintelligible or if it's too heavy-handed. Obviously, if I missed any dictation software errors please tell me.
I assert my rights as the author of this original fiction.
Endgame
Arnheim, 26-07-08
He placed another tile on the board, with a pleasing click. The Nine of Leaves; the Ash, winning the House. Not so pleasing.
I might say that he allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his thin lips, as he surveyed the new pattern formed. I would say it, but his satisfaction, his pleasure in the game, seemed to be so profound, so uninterrupted by changes in fortune, that I was starting to believe it was genuine, unaffected.
No. Not with these stakes.
I remained cautious, hoarding my more powerful pieces, playing only lesser Stones and Waters while he continued to lavish Named tiles on mere secondary Houses. I could imagine him to be overconfident, but never rash, so my conviction grew that he had a much stronger hand. I would have cursed the Dealer, if I had had the courage. I played more meanly than ever, sacrificing House after House to preserve my Names.
I fought to keep my focus but found my attention drawn to each ancient Tintype on the wall and the empty eyes of each silent face there. Every movement of the curtains in the breathless air caught my attention. I found myself wondering if I should have risked wearing the ring the Lady gave me. Much worse, like an amateur, I kept picturing myself as I lost: perhaps I would swear, perhaps smile carelessly. Perhaps I would thank him with a quiet handshake, perhaps…
Doubt, caution, fear, despair. We had entered Endgame.
As we began the final level, he now played dross, throwing away each Tower as it was completed and, steadily, I took control of the higher board. Yet his devilish smile remained to mock me, to goad me as I seized what I could in desperation. I should not have been surprised when I triumphantly completed a full Palace with my strongest tile, the Grey Mountain, the Crown of Stones, only to have the Dealer point out that the Minor House below it could not support a Major Tower. An error unworthy of a novice.
As the Dealer removed both Tower and House, they unmade the next, and that the next. My Palace fell, my Towers in ruins and he was left with dominion over all the humble Houses on the board. While I had hesitated, his true Endgame had already been played upon my fear.
I smiled carelessly as the Dealer acknowledged the winner and patiently removed each tile, returning them to their appointed places beneath the board. I looked down to speculate upon what remained of my hand, but it had already been taken away. I offered the victor my hand as he tilted back his chair to stretch his thin frame languidly, but he glanced at the Dealer, shook his head and finally spoke.
"Not that it would change a jot of what has passed, or what is planned, but I know and you know that you do not really want to shake my hand."
My head was light. The curtains shook like sails in an upstart breeze. The copper eyes in the silent faces on the wall regarded me without expression. I didn't notice the Dealer leave. I gestured at the stakes left piled on what was now an otherwise empty table, as if graciously offering what was no longer mine. For the first time his quiet amusement broke into a flashing smile, so bright and full of unashamed pride that I felt it quite overwhelm me and swallow my petty misfortunes as he unfolded from his seat and rose, saying:
"The stakes placed on the table were never those we played for. Promises and words mean nothing, no matter whose. You knew the true stakes when you came - your loss must now be paid for. The question you must ask yourself is: why you played to lose?"
~~~~~
I wrote this over the course of the Saturday afternoon and tinkered with it the following day. I edited it two days ago as and after I dictated it to my computer.
Specific Feedback: Any feedback welcome. I am particularly interested to know if the game mechanics are too intrusive or unintelligible or if it's too heavy-handed. Obviously, if I missed any dictation software errors please tell me.
I assert my rights as the author of this original fiction.