Just found this when I was going through all my old stuff. Finished it up, wanted to share.
The pieces were settled on random squares as White made his move. Black found their Queen under siege, and one loyal Knight on his steed rushed to her aide, knocking down the ivory pawns in a fierce battle trance. With the assistance of a wily Bishop, Black executed a cunning maneuver to incapacitate several
In one tense moment, White's Queen had fallen, and our heroic Knight and his mount advanced on the King, the broken King. Locked in an intricately erratic dance of death, the blurry soldier and twisted Tyrant spun 'round and 'round, waiting for a slip-up. One came.
From one instant to another, the warrior was flung from his mount, becoming naught but a mere pawn before the giant lord. Both exhausted, both would not be remembered as to have given up when their moment, the entire purpose of their entire lives arrived. And that moment was checkmate. Death to all on the accursed playing field, death to those that had willed the events into place, to those who had nudged the pawns into place, to those who had tugged on the strings of the minds of those who had held the power.
But not for the Warrior, for the broken knight, defeated in his victory, alone, alone, alone. Death was not dealt to the piece for which death was written, but instead for a mere piece of this piece, a death of something inside, some element that was not often called upon, not often used. But this vital segment, while not often noticed when present, leaves a hole most noticeable upon its violent departure.
And our knight only knows the pain of losing one's self.