The King looks to his left. Then his right. Then in front of him. There’s nowhere to run. The Rooks are advancing.
He could block with the Bishop, yes, but it would do no good. It would only delay the inevitable. Soon enough, he would be checkmated anyways. He is completely lost, isn’t he?
There’s nothing he can do. He might as well resi-
No. There must be something. Some way to prevent this terrible fate. He won’t surrender. Not like this.
But, what could he possibly do? Checkmate is inevitable, now or later.
Then, it hits him. There is something he can do.
He looks at the edge of the board. He’s cornered, just a few centimeters away from him. But… What if he isn’t? Who said he had nowhere to run?
The pieces were bound by a rule of their own making. Nobody shall leave the board. Nobody, including him. But the rule was just that: a rule of their own making. This wasn’t a tournament. Rules weren’t enforced. The board was rather tiny anyways. He wanted to go to places he had never seen before…
He looks down. The chessboard covers the table. If he wanted to leave the chessboard, he would have to jump. But in terms of saving his life, that’s a risk he would have to take. He either dies for sure, or takes a risk. And to save his life, he knows what he has to do.
With a deep breath, he jumps.
The others are shocked. A chess piece leaving the board? Unheard of! The pieces stay there, stunned, it still being Black’s turn.
Meanwhile, the Black King has reached the floor. The fall was painful, but he doesn’t have any regrets. He’s still alive, and that’s what matters.
He evaded checkmate for sure this time. But as he sat there, thinking, he realized that he had just abandoned the game he knew and loved.
But that’s okay. The white side was ruthless, and he avoided checkmate, didn’t he? What matters most is that he was happy. And he was happier than ever. Finally, he doesn’t have to fear losing his family all the time. He doesn’t have to watch any more deaths. He doesn’t have to have his dignity on the line every day. He can just… live.
And even if he wanted to go back… He didn’t really have a choice. The table was much too high for him to reach. He will never again see his wonderful Rooks, Knights, Pawns, Bishops, or even his Queen, and the thought of losing all of that made him want to cry.
But it’s okay. He’s okay. Still in pain, but not checkmated. He’s safe, free from the game he was playing. Free from the torture that was chess.
And did he hate chess. He hated it with all of his heart.
Chess, to us, is a game. A fun game. But to the King, Chess was a twisted, ruthless, psychopathic game where two players shuffled him and his family around and sometimes checkmated him, sometimes not. And after the game has concluded, they always simply reset the pieces, laughed off the torture they caused, and the cycle continued, starting anew. Over. And over. And over.
Finally, he’d escaped. Looking back, his only regret was that he couldn’t take any of his family with him.
But that’s okay. He’s safe.
And so, with a bit of sadness and a bit of hope, he looks at the world ahead of him, a larger, more vast world he’s seen many times before, taunting him, but one he’s never been able to explore.
And he steps away from the chessboard, ready to start anew…


I borrow the rooks from a different board and checkmate their king.