Image taken from Google
When my children were young, we used to play a lot of Chess, and Scrabble. I haven’t played Chess with Nola (my daughter) for a long while now. When she visits me (like she is doing nowadays) she remains busy with her young brood, or she is on the phone with M1, or M3, or her husband. If none of that, then she is catching up with the news of the day on her IPad.
Nola was good at Chess. My son, and I couldn’t beat her at the game. When she, and I were playing, I would be checkmated within minutes. For the life of me I couldn’t see it coming.
After losing a game, I would start all over again. The end result — me losing to her. This would spur me to a new game. I would think per chance I might win. It was wishful thinking. It never happened.
We would continue playing for hours. I would forget that I had to put dinner on the table. My irate (late) husband would remind me. I would say, “just a second”, with the seconds stretching into minutes. One day he had his chance. He picked up the set, and threw it. The Chess board broke.
After seeing how unhappy we both were, he promised to buy a grand Chess table for us. I never came across one, for me to like. And now, I don’t even like Chess anymore.
The Perfect Game
You’re set to play poker (or Scrabble or something else . . .) with a group of four. Write a story set during this game. Or, describe the ideal match: the players, the relationships — and the hidden rivalries.