Leo tossed his slain king in disgust. In doing so he startled his opponent – not because of the act, but more so because of the distance and accuracy.
Leo said nothing. He eased his chair backward and elevated. He gently placed a rugged bill atop the chess board, grabbed his cap, placed it on his bald scalp, and lowered its bill to a dip just above eye level.
He would never forgive himself for the loss.
Pebble looked absolutely – cunningly – beautiful. She had the pleasant intelligence of a red gob stopper.
She maneuvered her pieces always with the minor push of her left pinky. Her bishop skated diagonally in a slow meticulous slide. Were the board a platform of ice, one could imagine the wave of ice chips spitting behind his skates.
“I can’t quite figure you – do you dislike conversation or women.”
She expressed this more as a statement than a question. She had the unfortunate voice of an adolescent boy.
Pebble’s gaze followed the arch of Leo’s ruler as he traveled the length of three hundred small bird cages filed one after another.
She awoke from her momentary stupor.
“Hey – you pegged that pigeon.”
“If he doesn’t live – the vultures can give him a proper burial in their bellies.”
– Eric McCarty (12/22/2011)