First Mistakes
by Anonymous
The rec room was dim, the kind of dim that made your brain go "cozy" but your eyes scream "squint harder." The furniture? A thrift store fever dream. There was a scuffed chessboard precariously balanced on a too-small table, and sitting across from it: STEPHEN, looking way too smug for someone whose strategy was best described as "vibes," and GHOST, whose tactical precision could cut glass. Off to the side, FISHMONGER leaned against the wall, arms crossed like she was judging their life choices. BEA had a mug of tea—probably spiked—and ANNA was just… knitting. Because of course she was.
The game continued. Ghost moved with the kind of precision that screamed "I’ve read too many chess books," while Stephen… well, Stephen made "moves." The wind outside howled, rattling the windows like they were trying to escape the sheer audacity happening on the board.
Ghost squinted at the board like it had personally offended him. "That… that’s not even a move," he muttered. "I don’t think it’s legal." But Stephen was grinning like he’d just solved chess itself.
By the end, Ghost’s pawns were an unstoppable wall of inevitability. Stephen’s pieces looked like they’d been arranged by a drunk toddler. But then…
Bea burst out laughing into her tea. "I can’t believe it. You actually bumbled into a draw." Stephen leaned back, arms crossed triumphantly. "That’s the Nimzowitsch Defense, baby. Pure brilliance. Pure chaos. Pure me." Ghost, deadpan, replied, "Pure dumb luck."