The Girl Who Played Chess with the Boy Who Ate the Pieces
June 28, 2026
Once upon a time — in an apartment that smelled faintly of rosewater, a tropical garden gone rogue, and concealed enough chocolate to rival Willy Wonka’s factory — lived a girl named Kiki.
Kiki liked to play chess. Yet her chessboard was no ordinary battlefield.
It was a lively kingdom of performers. The queens and kings sang, wrote poetry, and gave speeches. The bishops acted. The knights fought spectacle duels. The rooks painted everyday scenes, and the pawns danced… There was always something happening on the board.
Her chessboard monarchy floated in midair, where each square shimmered and flickered between black velvet and pearl white.
Across the board sat a boy.
Beautiful in the way Roman statues are — so alluring. But his eyes were two question marks dressed in charm, and his smile looked as though it had been borrowed from a story he never read.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, like a child.
Between them floated the kingdom.
For a while, neither spoke. They simply watched…
Every move they made sent its inhabitants into motion. Queens and kings sang. Bishops rehearsed. Knights prepared for battle. Rooks reached for their paint, and pawns hurried to their places as though the fate of the world depended on the next scene.
Kiki wondered what should happen next…
“Should the kings and queens build another castle?” she asked.
The boy shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“Or perhaps it’s time for the queens to plant hydrangeas around the fountain?”
“I guess.”
Kiki frowned.
“What about an expedition? “Should we discover a hidden island? Or how about throwing a grand ball?”
The boy looked at the board.
“What does this one do again?” he asked, poking a bishop.
Kiki blinked.
“The bishop?”
The boy looked at the board.
“Yeah.”
“It acts.”
“Oh.”
She waited.
“So… no thoughts…”
The boy tilted his head.
“Not really.”
Kiki looked back at the kingdom. The knights stood ready at the harbor. The queens waited beside the fountain. The bishops were rehearsing the new opera.
She was still pondering what adventure to give them.
As she gathered her knights — a magnificent company of obsidian and fire — the boy clapped with childish delight.
Then, excited by some thought only he understood, he reached toward the board, plucked a bishop from the air, and ate it.
Crunch.
Kiki stared in disbelief.
“You do realize we’re playing, right?” she asked.
The kingdom fell silent. Every queen, king, bishop, knight, rook, and pawn suddenly understood the horrifying truth: their fate had been placed in the hands of a child pretending to play grown-up games.
“I thought we were vibing.”
Vibing.
That cursed word.
Kiki stared, but not with sadness. No, this was cold clarity.
Time hiccupped. The chessboard shuddered. Teacups spun upside down on invisible tables. Paintings abandoned their frames. The flowers tore themselves from the ground and scattered into the sky. The opera dissolved mid-note. Knights dropped their swords. Bishops forgot their lines.
Slowly, the kingdom dissolved into air.
Not with fire.
Not with war.
But the way silver moonlight retreats at the touch of morning gold.
Once, enchanted by the beauty of the prince and the splendor of the kingdom, Kiki had mistaken him for a worthy opponent.
But now?
Now she knew the truth.
The prince had never come to play chess.
“I don’t want to play anymore!” she yelled. Her voice echoed through the room like wind caught in stained glass.
He blinked, confused.
“Wait… you’re leaving?”
Behind her, the boy tried to eat a rook and choked on his own nonsense.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m not dessert!”
And just like that, the scene vanished. Kiki woke up… It seemed, after all, that the only game being played was between her and her own mind.
Thank you for reliving this moment with me!
See you next Sunday at 4.
Love, Kiki
