I boarded the coach that would take me to the venue of the chess tournament. It was an all-consuming, unforgettable, always nagging sort of worry:

My first match of the next day started and ended badly. I was to play against a boy of no more than 8, who sat precariously on the very edge of his seat, with legs dangling aimlessly under the table. His age and the innocent gaze gave me hope that I could at least secure 1 point for my team. But I was wrong, very wrong. As he made his first moves, I saw he was no novice and despite my best efforts, my fiendish foe struck mercilessly, felling my pieces one by one. It was an uphill struggle, a battle I could not win and yet I tried, while to my annoyance, he squealed with delight after each capture in a childlike manner, though he had the skill of double his apparent age. I can tell you - this was terribly shocking. So there was no surprise when he finally delivered checkmate, though while we did this, I dreaded the teases I would be sure to receive as the result of this lost battle, especially due to my opponent's age. As I stepped from the room, my fears were confirmed. My humiliation had begun.

My next match went just as badly. Still in a daze from the jests endured, my head spinning, as I tried desperately to win against my unsympathetic opponent. But my efforts were to no avail, as I lost, even more swiftly than before. But my thoughts cleared as I left the tournament room: one round to make a win. One round to avoid disgrace!

After my disastrous rounds, I expected nothing more than another loss from equally capable opponents, knowing my fate for humiliation had been sealed the moment I agreed to come. But my next opponent was not something I could have anticipated given even the wildest imagination. Like a giant, he towered over the board, but it was not his height which troubled me but his bulk. His fat bulged in great flabs so that I felt he might burst and his slow, lumbering walk scarcely surprised me. One could tell clothes were not made to his size; the Nike logo on his shirt was stretched into a thin line while his fat writhed under his tight top as he reached out to move his piece. I made no mistake in underestimating my opponent this time, however, it was soon clear he was less gifted than the child prodigy I had played the first round. But there was still something strange about the game play, there was something about the way we played in his shadow that unnerved me, and before long, I once more felt myself sailing against the wind in this battle of mine. But as does a wounded animal strike back, so did I, knowing the fate that would come to me if I lost this match. But then, my silent prayers were answered: in the form of the biggest blunder I had ever seen at this level of play, and I pounced upon it, like a hungry wild cat as he throws himself on a mouse. The tide had changed, and I finished him off easily. The victory was mine, no disgrace for me.

Personal Imaginative

Nicholas Niem