Worn Out

I arrive a little bit late to the venue, across the table there is a face completely worn out with little to no shine on it. His hairs are turning grey, his eyes are dark and tired, wrinkles on his forehead. His body is so thin, I can almost see his bones popping out.

The game starts with the Spanish opening, he wants to play for a win. I'll play slow and build my defense, I need to be patient, and not jump into the play that he wants.

He keeps pushing his pieces toward my turf, bombarding me with constant attacks, but I have built a massive impenetrable wall, and I just need to bid my time until he slips.

Multiple attacks on my defense get more and more desperate, and he blundered, which let me launch a counter-play on his vulnerable king.

He's hanging on to his dear life, defending himself from my relentless assault, hoping that small chance of me making a blunder and then grabbing the advantage.

Looking at it makes me a little sad but also frustrated, it's a waste of time, just resign. What's the point of holding on to that littlest smidge of hope?

An hour later, I corner his king and checkmate him.

When I am about to leave the room, he still sits there staring at the board, I can't see his face, but I can sense his soul about to leave his body, after the brutal game.

I come to a fast food restaurant to get dinner, I can't trust any restaurant outside of where I'm from, except from fast foods that I've already known.

I got my burger, and as I was about to chomp on it, someone slaps my back.

"Congrats on the win!" Kristof with his horrible way to greet someone, or at least to me.

He sits in front of me, his dumb yet good-looking face. I hate it, but he's also one of the few friends that I have.

"I saw your game, that counter-attack was brutal, man can't catch a break."

"Thanks, but something bugs me when I played him."

"What is it?"

"He was so desperate, it was depressing."

He looks down, "He really needed the win."

"Why?"

I could see slight confusion on his face in a split second, and then calmed down, "You don't know?"

"What?" Now I am confused, what did I miss?

"He's retiring from the competitive scene if he didn't win, he can't afford to play tournaments anymore."

"That's, sad."

"Anyway, that makes you first in standings now, right?"

"Mm-mm, Smith is 2nd right now only half point behind me, and I got to play against him tomorrow."

"That's tough, good luck."

***

I meet him on my walk to the hotel, the person I played today, I think his name is, Ian? I'm terrible with names.

I want to greet him, but my guts say that I shouldn't, maybe he'd think that I'm gloating. It doesn't matter as he greet me instead.

"Hi, you played well today." He said with a faint smile on his face. He has a smidge of relieve under the amount of pressure that mounts on him.

"Thank you." It feels awkward.

"Want to have dinner together? I'll pay." That faint smile grows larger, and the sense of relief is stronger from him.

"Um, I just had dinner."

"I see, good luck tomorrow then." and then he walks away.

What is that sense of relief from him? Is deep inside, he's happy not to be competing? But why?

After all these years of diving deep inside chess, he's now happy to leave it? Or is that desire to leave have been here this whole time, but he's forced to stay?

Maybe it was not desperation, it's just that he had nothing to lose. If he wins, then it's good, and if he lose, then he has a reason to leave the sport. He's exhausted, chess has worn him out to the point of right now.

If so, what does "can't afford to play tournaments" even mean? I don't think he's having a serious financial problem, he even offered to buy me dinner. Is it just an alibi?

This just makes my head hurt, I need to focus for tomorrow's match.