Gemotions

The chess board. His meticulously chosen pieces, now in a permanent state of disarray. His son was deep in concentration, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. His son’s game was aggressive and unorthodox.

He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He had taken his son to the chess club and, to his dismay, the boy had excelled. He had loved the game, and now his son seemed to have usurped his place as a master.

"Checkmate," his son announced, without looking up.

He felt a flush creep up his neck. The boy, with a smile that was somehow both innocent and knowing, looked up at his father. He mumbled something about needing to go to sleep and turned away.