Gemotions

He stared at the blank chess board, the cold pieces lined up in their rigid formations. The coach wanted him to learn to play black, to play defensively, to react. He had always been white, always the aggressor, always dictating the pace.

His palms were slick with sweat as he stared at the board. The opponent’s quiet confidence grated on him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the other player could see right through him. He traced the movements in his mind, but the possibilities seemed endless, and each path seemed to lead to the same result.

He hated the feeling of being caught in a trap, of being forced to react instead of control. A coldness spread through him, and his fingers trembled as he finally reached for a piece.