Chess

by NCC-24601

Kyle plays chess against himself in his spare time, there not being any other people who can play the game at his level in town. Then an opponent appears for him. Unfortunately for Kyle, the stakes in the game he ends up playing are really high - he cannot afford to lose.

My first (and last) attempt at first person writing. How the hell do you guys do it?

This one came about after I watched The Seventh Seal, a film I do recommend you watch at some point, so it's partly (mostly) based on that. Except obviously not set in the thirteenth century or Sweden.

Review box at the bottom, any kind of constructive criticism/shit flinging is welcomed.

---

It's a glorious day.

The sun is beating down on Stark's pond enough to make the ice consider thawing out some, and there are birds flying overhead singing their songs. The mountains around town are in that state of being mostly green with the white cap, the one that looks so picturesque. It's a photo op that would be perfect for a selfie background. But then, I'm not the type to do that sort of thing.

And I get to be alone, because there's a Broncos match on the TV. Even the guys aren't going to disturb me. I lost interest in sport a few years ago. It used to be engaging enough but nowadays it's just not any more. So while everyone is home, I'm here. Playing chess.

It's a game I play with quite a few people. I taught Stan to play, I taught Ike to play, I'm trying to teach Kenny too but it's not going great. I don't think he's the type who'd enjoy this game. But I can play with myself. I'm a good opponent. Even if nice days do distract me some, like they do.

I've brought everything I could need. I have one of those wooden chess boards that folds up so that it's also the case for all the pieces. They all have little holders inside to keep them from rattling around. I have a collapsible table and two of those fold out director's chairs. The second one is opposite me, just in case someone happens by.

See, as much fun as playing with myself is, it's a lot better if there's someone else to play. And I can always hope.

I move white. I've got the black king pinned down but I can't check it without giving it an escape route. And now it's black's turn. Black's only chance here is to keep the white king under threat so that white has to keep moving out of check, and thus not get a chance to improve its position against black.

I foresee a threefold repetition coming up, and that always necessitates a draw. Sometimes that's the only way to not lose. I move black's queen to start pestering the white king. Now white's go.

I think. Is there anywhere I could move white that would make black have to sacrifice a piece to maintain check? It doesn't look like it. Is there a way to block check in a way that-

"Hello," says a voice. I look up - there's someone standing right next to the table. How the hell did he sneak up like that?

I stand up. I'm a few inches down from eye level with the man. He's blonde, blue eyed, English by the sound of it, he's wearing black jeans and jumper with a beige trench coat over the top. "What?" I ask.

"Hello," he repeated, in a tone that made me feel a little more impatient with him.

"What do you want?" I ask, putting a little steel into my voice.

"You're Kyle Broflovski, yes?" he asks, remaining polite but condescending somehow, an achievement I've only ever heard Eric Cartman manage on a regular basis.

"How do you know?" I ask, now pouring steel into my voice at an industrial rate - he's pissing me off. I don't know if it's his tone or his sudden appearance that's doing it, but it's getting to me.

"It's time," he said simply, in a friendly voice.

"For what?"

"You're about to die." My eyes narrow, and I feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands - freshly clenched into fists.

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

There's a surreal moment then. My head starts hurting slightly, and he seems to shimmer in the air for a moment. I caught the briefest flash of a hooded figure there. A painfully thin one carrying an outdated gardening tool. If the scythe didn't give it away, the fact that that figure had seemed to have no flesh on his bones and that his robe was black - and that he was even wearing a robe in this day and age - did.

The shimmering stopped, my migraine dissipated and the blonde man was there again. "Were you expecting something more like that?" he asked, curious.

I was speechless. My reflexes were telling me to run, but I was just staring. If I stayed still, he couldn't hurt me, right?

"So you're here to kill me?" I ask. I noticed my voice wasn't so acidic now.

"No, no, no," the angel of death replied. "You're not actually due to die for…" He pulled what appeared to be a golden pocket watch out of one pocket. It's small, but I can still see the six pointed star engraved into the back. And I can hear it ticking. "About fifteen minutes. On your way home. A mugging, I believe. But most people don't like being around when they actually die." He shrugs and briefly cocks his head in that sort of 'what can you do?' way. "It's kind of complicated."

I stop to think. I'm about to die. Somehow. That's just fucking great. I've only been around for fifteen years, but I've got my life planned out. I'm going to go to Stanford and get a psychology degree, for starters. Now Death has rocked up and told me I'm not even going to get that far.

"It's difficult, I know. God knows I know, everyone has their problems with it," Death says. "But trust me when I say you'll come with me one way or another."

I look down. I look down again after I look back up. "Death?" I say, to get the attention I already have. "I'm not ready. And I have a chess board."

Death looks down. He raises his eyebrows in understanding. "You want a game for your soul," he states. "This old thing." He stops to consider, rocking on his heels for a few seconds. "What do I get if you lose?" he asks.

"Umm…" I dither, not having seen that question coming. "You get my soul?"

"No, no, your soul's technically mine already. You get it back if you win," he explains casually. I feel my brow furrow in anger, but the logical part of my brain tells me he is right. "What do I stand to gain from winning?"

I have to unclench my fists again. "What do you want?"

Death smiles. "I like you. You actually bothered to ask." He thought. He thought for a few minutes, actually, during which time I sat back down.

He looked up when he was ready to speak again. "Okay, Kyle. If you win, you win back your soul and get to continue living. If I win, I get to keep yours, plus extra." He smiles at me in an unsettling way. "Your group of friends. Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman. All of them."

I feel my eyes all but pop right out of my head. "No! Not my friends!" Then I stop to think for a second. "Not anyone!"

Death shrugs. "Shame. Well, do you happen to have any mythical artefacts?"

My face scrunches up a bit as I comprehend how stupid that question is. "No!"

"Then we have to deal in souls," he says patiently. "Material goods are of no use to me. Though I do have to grant you, well done for not trying to offer me money or your possessions." Death kicks the soil. "A lot of people don't seem to realise that the metal and paper in their pockets only have value because enough people happen to think likewise." He chuckles. I never thought Death would be the type to chuckle, much less in a friendly way, but there it is. "One person recently offered me coins if I wouldn't take them."

"Wow," I draw out, lowly. "That's actually kind of sad."

"I came back after the bus hit him, naturally. By that point he didn't have any choice in the matter."

So that's it. I have to die or deal in souls.

"You have my offer, Kyle," he says. "Your life if you win. Theirs if I win."

I try. "Is there anything that I might reasonably be able to get my hands on that you'd take?"

"Hm." Death thinks long and hard. Either that or he puts the impression of it, anyway. "Not reasonably, no. The closest we get to 'reasonably' are the Dead Sea Scrolls. And they're not even on this continent."

I can't help asking. "Why not get them yourself?"

"I get bored," he shrugs. "It's rather fun watching people scramble around desperately while they're playing games with me. I could just take them, but where's the fun in that?" That seemed a little sociopathic, and I do feel some anger at him lording it over people like that but this was Death, after all.

So there's no other way out.

I can't gamble my friends' lives. Even though I'm really good at chess - and that assessment is a modest one - he could still be better. If it were just the life of some random person on the other side of the globe then I might find that easier to live down - lots of people die, that's what people do.

But people I know, who I've been friends with for ten years?

But am I ready to die?

Fuck survival instinct. Really, I hate what it's making me do.

I close my eyes, block off the reasonable part of me and sigh. "One."

"Hm?"

"One soul for the winner. That's fair. I get mine back if I win, you get one of them if you win." I deliberately don't allow myself to feel anything about what I'm saying. It's hard, but when you're a Jew who's friends with a Nazi you get jaded towards such things as being nice. It's a defect of mine.

Death considers, then hits the button on top of the pocket watch. The ticking stops. "Alright," he says, and he sits down opposite me. "On two conditions, Kyle," he says as he picks up one king in each hand and starts shaking them behind his back. "You must choose who comes with you, and it must be one of the group I spoke of. If you don't pick, I take them all."

"Fine," I agree without thinking through what I'm doing too well. I'm risking my friends so that I can stay alive. That's something I don't want to think about, but I really should have done before I said 'fine'.

Death holds his hands out. I tap one - he reveals the white king. "You open," he said, smiling. Death getting black - I wonder if he planned that. Between us, we reset the pieces.

I make a standard opening - the king's pawn forward two. Death moves his own forward one. I move my queen's knight out and towards the centre of the board, two in front of the queen's bishop. Death briefly considers, then moves his queen's pawn forward two.

The game progresses for about a half hour, most of which was thinking time. I'm playing carefully, obviously. Once we're both nine moves in, he stands up. I've lost two pawns and he one, I've lost a knight and he's lost his black squares bishop.

"I must depart for now," he explains. "I've got rather a demanding job."

I stand up too. "I understand."

"Yes. There's a war in Syria, disease ravaging Africa, accidents and murders galore, and here I am playing chess with you," he comments offhandedly. Then he turns to face me. "Not that I mean that in a nasty way, of course."

I notice my teeth are grit. "Of course," I repeat.

"I'll come back at some point and we can resume," he said. "Of course I won't disturb you while asleep or during important times. But I will come back," he promised. "Oh, and do be careful, won't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask.

"There'll be a person walking around who's meant to be dead, that can have quite an effect on the way the world's supposed to turn out," he explains. "So try not to do anything too major."

"Right."

Then he turns around and walks away. When I look away for a split second, he disappears.

I blink. Then I sigh, pack up and leave.

I pass Stan's house on the way back. The game should have finished by now so I walk up and knock on the door. Sure enough, Stan answers. He's fairly happy - that means the Broncos won, and either it was by a huge margin or they played well. Probably both.

"Hey, Kyle," he greets me. "We won." No shit.

"Yeah," I acknowledge. I open my mouth. What I want to say is something like 'I just risked your life in a stupid attempt to save my own. I'm really really sorry.' Or at the very least, 'So I just met the angel of death and it turns out he's a blonde guy in a trench coat'. I try, I really do. But I can't.

Instead what comes out is "So, are you going down Harbucks?" Stan normally does, and Cartman and Kenny are always there. Every time a game finishes we all go to Harbucks. Obviously we're only fifteen, so we can't hit a bar, besides which after some episodes in Stan's younger days I like to keep as many walls, streets and if it can be arranged continents between him and the nearest alcoholic drink.

"Of course, dude, we just thrashed them!" he chirps - 'them' referring to the Chiefs, if I recall correctly. I nod. "Why'd you come here first?"

I shrug, with deliberate casualness. He has a point - Kenny's house is closer than his albeit in the other direction, and Cartman's street is between here and my house. But I don't want to spill everything that's happened. I opt for partial truth. "I was down Stark's, I thought the game might have finished by now. You coming?"

"Sure." Stan steps out of the house, pulling his jacket off a stand he keeps near the door. He pulls it on as we head towards the road and walk towards the coffee shop.

Kenny and Cartman are already at our usual booth. Kenny has water, Cartman has a mug of strong looking coffee and a cake. I can't help rolling my eyes as Stan and I slide in opposite them.

"Sup, fags," Cartman greets us as wonderfully politically correct as ever. He doesn't even bother to look up.

Kenny, more mellowly, waves and says "Hi." I wave back.

"Kenny," I acknowledge. "Fatass." Before he can cut in with an overly defensive shout, I carry on. "Did anything really good happen during the game?"

"Yeah," Stan says as Mrs. Tweak comes over to take orders. As I order a black coffee, he explains how an allegedly epic touchdown happened, something I might watch if it gets on YouTube. I'm not really listening though - I would out of courtesy, plus Stan is still my best friend, but I'm distracted.

As conversation goes on around me, I start thinking about strategy for the chess game. Of course, I remember where all the pieces were when we adjourned. Death's king's side of the board is fairly exposed, and I could probably trap a few pieces of his. But then, could I do that without exposing myself?

There weren't many ways I could get decent value - I could put him on the backpedal, but I suspected him of being a good player and he'd see what I was doing. He might write those off while he gets his queen into position.

Could I target the queen then?

"Kyle?" Kenny asks. I zone back in.

"Huh?"

Cartman sniggered. He muttered something just out of hearing range, but I catch the word "Jew" in there somewhere. I groan and turn to Stan. "What is it?"

"I was asking, do you want to hit Denver at the weekend? Me and Kenny need to buy a few things there and Cartman's game for getting lunch out. What about you?"

"Oh," I say, rather dumbly. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Are you alright?" Kenny asks. He's a perceptive one - I should have been a little more careful.

"I'm fine," I say. The nod he gives me is sceptical at best, but he doesn't say anything else.

---

The weekend comes. I got two more visits from Death in the meantime. He's a good player, as I'd sort of expect. But so am I. And I think I'm in a good position to knock his queen out of commission within a few moves.

We get off the bus. "Okay," Kenny says, "what's the plan?"

"You and me can go get what we need," Stan replies like he's got the day's itinerary planned out in his head. "We'll be done in an hour or so, right?"

"Yup."

Stan nods. "Okay, so we can meet up somewhere later. I think we passed a TGI's on the way in the city, how's that?"

Nobody objects. Stan and Kenny peel off and head towards the central business district to buy whatever they need.

"I've got to get a couple of things too," Cartman says.

"A gastric band?" I immediately quip with a nice acidic tone.

"Shut up, Jew!" Cartman snaps. Before I can come back to that, he's walking away. So, that just leaves me on my own. Well, I know a small park not too far away from the bus station. I decide that will be a nice place to go and waste time at.

It's two blocks away. It's one of those small patches of greenery that has a pitiful little pond and a small child's play area in it, and a few benches for people to just sit down and watch the day get old. That's what I do. I sit there and play games on my phone for a few minutes, waiting for the text to come through to say to head to dinner.

I become aware of someone sitting next to me. That's nothing of great concern, it's a big city and there aren't many benches, but I can't remember anyone actually arriving. There wasn't someone there, then there was. And when the person opens their mouth and starts talking in a British accent, my heart does sink a little.

"While I don't really expect casual conversation from you people," Death says, in the same trench coat and black underclothes as usual, "it's normally expected that you at least say hello." He's doing that casually condescending voice again.

"Hi," I say blankly.

He smiles at me. "Wasn't that hard now, was it?" He looks down at the chessboard that has appeared between us, set up like it was when we left. I see my opening. "I believe it was white to move," Death informs me, inviting me to make my move.

I take the full board in. There aren't any imminent threats, and if he's about to do what I think he's going to do then I'll be in a wonderful position.

Eventually, I settle on advancing a pawn. He considers for a few minutes. "How have you been?" he asks as he does so.

"Alright, I suppose. Considering I'm meant to be dead, anyway," I reply. Death does chuckle, and as ever it unnerves me.

"That's flawless logic, I suppose," he replies. "I've been busy."

"I guessed." He doesn't shut up about it. Sometimes I think I'm talking to a computer or something, and honestly it wouldn't surprise me if that turned out to be the case.

Then he moves. He hasn't seen. Or he has and I've missed something. I move my bishop to a position in line with firstly my knight and then, after that, his king. Provided Death doesn't move his king or queen, then the queen is mine in two moves.

Of course, that's when my phone goes off. I groan and check, while Death perks up and seems to try to get a glance of the screen. It's Stan. Finished quicker than we thought, on way to TGI now, eta 15 min.

"Gah, shit."

"I take it you have to leave?" Death asks redundantly.

I nod. "I'll be honest, I thought they'd take longer. They must have found somewhere close." I sigh.

Death shrugs. I notice the chessboard is gone. "No matter. I can be patient." He leans back. "I do wait for everyone, don't I?"

"Yeah." I text my response. On my way. When I turn back, he's gone. Because of course he is.

I get up and head towards our restaurant. It's not the nicest TGI Friday's I've been to, but it's alright. Stan and Kenny beat me there, but fatass has yet to show up. "Hey, dude," Stan greets as I slide in next to him.

"What'd you get?" I ask.

Stan opened up his bag. "Just a couple of new clothes, a PS4 game, that's about it." I nod. "I was expecting it to be in short supply, that's why I set so much time aside but, first place I tried, dude."

I nod and turn to Kenny. "You?"

"New coat," he says simply. He pulled a coat identical to the one he was wearing out of his own bag. "That's it."

I don't even know where he gets orange coats from. I've never seen a shop selling them. But he seems to have an inexhaustible supply at his disposal. Still, I nod.

"I just played games on my phone down the park," I fill them in, just as Cartman turns up and crashes next to Kenny, pushing the poor guy right up against the wall.

"Hey, guys," he greets us. "I'm pretty much done too." Christ, how much time did I spend with Death?

"Do we want to know what you got?" I ask.

His face scrunches up. "Come on, Kyle, it's not like I'm always scheming. I just needed a new shirt." He pulls it out, and Kenny is the first to examine it. Specifically the tag.

"Triple XL?" he asks slowly, with a lot of inflection on the L. "I thought you were double X."

I can see some other stuff in his bag. At the first sign of a fire hazard warning on one of the other purchases, I stop looking. I don't even want to know. I just sigh and wait for Cartman's response. He's not being immediate about it - I think we might finally have caught him out on his big bones bullshit, like we even fucking needed to. He only needs double X - or triple X, apparently - because of his generous circumference.

Eventually he settles on "Fuck you, Kenny," as his weak response.

Then the waitress comes. "Can I order your drinks?" Her badge says Rachel.

A quick glance around confirmed we could. "Actually, I'm pretty much ready for food," Stan said before anyone could get in. "Anyone else?"

I check the menu. There's not a whole lot can be said for kosher on there, but then again I love my cheeseburgers. They taste nice, what else can I say?

Nonetheless I settle on rump steak. I doubt it's been prepared in the correct way, but the fucks that I don't give are innumerate. "I'm good for food now," I reply. Cartman and Kenny both nod, so we order. Rachel disappears.

"Hey, can I get out?" Stan asks me. "I think that Dr Pepper I had on the coach is catching up with me." I promptly stand up, letting him out.

Cartman rises too. "I got to take a shit too," he announces with far less delicacy. Then they disappear. Kenny spreads out onto his side of the booth a little in the absence of Cartman, and I sit back down. He leans forward.

"So what's wrong?" he asks, right out of the blue. I blink.

"Nothing," I say, and it's only after I've replied I realise that I did so way too quickly.

Kenny shakes his head. "Wrong answer. I know when something's wrong, Kyle, don't try to pull wool over my eyes."

I consider, then I nod. Kenny's good. He's a fucking good lie detector, that guy. "Promise you'll hear me out?"

"Sure."

"My soul is forfeit and I'm in a chess game with the angel of death to get it back."

The silence hangs in the air for a few seconds. Kenny's eyebrows are tilted upwards as he comprehends that, then he nods. "Not the weirdest thing that's ever happened. C'thulhu rose up and the town got attacked by Mecha Streisand twice, this is comparatively tame." His point is a fair one and I nod. "Nonetheless, what the fuck? How did you get your soul forfeit?"

"I was due to die, during the Broncos game, it was. I just, you know, had a chess board handy so I challenged him." I know I should mention the prize Death gets if he wins, but I don't. That's a shit storm I'd rather not deal with, especially while there's a good chance of me winning.

Kenny looked down. "Well, good luck to you, dude."

"I don't need luck," I say, smiling as Rachel brings our drinks. "I'm in a good position right now." I deliberately put on my smartass voice. "Through bishop and knight I'm going to get his queen on my next move."

He nods. "They're coming back," he says, nodding to the bathrooms. "Well, I'm glad to hear things are going well for you there."

Stan's on his own. Apparently Cartman's shit is serious business. I stand up and he gets back in and starts on his drink. "Say, Kenny, you want us to foot your bill?" he asks. I realise why he waited - Cartman wouldn't let him hear the end of it if he'd been around.

"Yeah," I agree, "I wouldn't mind."

Kenny smiles at us, shaking his head. "You guys are way too nice to me," he says. "Well, if you guys are fine with it I won't complain." I poke my head around the edge of the booth to check for Cartman. He's still busy, apparently. Stan passes me twenty five dollars, and I give Kenny a fifty bill.

"Keep the change, dude, it's fine," I say before he can protest. "I swear to god, you're the one who's too nice."

Cartman comes back not long after that, then Rachel brings us our food later still. Between us there are two rump steaks, a burger and a mixed grill. We eat, then move on to dessert. With us paying for him, Kenny goes a little more insane than just a burger and fries, but apart from that nothing really interesting goes on.

So, the check comes. We all leave money on the tray, and the look on Cartman's face when Kenny produces my fifty was completely worth what it cost me. Rachel takes the money and everyone prepares to leave. I get up and let Stan get out, Cartman lets Kenny out and they head towards the door.

I double check the check to make sure we've not been overcharged or anything. All was in order, but then my eye gets drawn down to where my name is in that small print at the end of the paper that normally nobody ever reads.

KYLE it reads.

ND6, KD8, BA6 TAKES Q. THANKS FOR THE WARNING.

NO CHARGE.

It takes me a couple of seconds to fully register it but the notation is familiar enough.

That's what I was going to do.

The knight moves, checks the king and leaves my bishop with line of sight on the queen. Death has to move out of check and there's no way he can do that and save the queen. The bishop captures, likely gets captured by the pawn straight afterwards. But how the hell-

Oh.

I turn to Rachel. She's looking right at me. She raises one arm to shoulder height and waves. A family of three walk in front of her, and just between the mother and the father I see a blonde man in a trench coat waving at me instead of a brunette TGI waitress. Then when the father has passed, nobody is there.

Oh, that little shit.

That cheating fucking-

"SHIT!"

---

I ended up telling the guys I must have pulled something in my leg and that was what the cursing was. I faked a limp all the way to the bus stop. They bought it. Well, I'm not sure about Kenny. I'll have to explain it to him at some point.

But right now, I'm looking around town to see if there's something I can't hit until I feel better. In the lack of soft things I'd probably build a snowman to punch to death, except there's not nearly enough snow at this time of year. Eventually I find myself back at Stark's, where I kick the closest drift of snow to the water into it.

"Don't feel too bad about it, Kyle," he says behind me. I turn and have to keep myself from kicking him right in his stupid fucking coat. "But out of interest, were you really expecting a fair game?"

"Sort of," I growl through grit teeth. "I don't think I'd have put one of my friends lives on the line if I didn't, do you?"

He doesn't take any offence. I guess coming from such a lesser being as a human, it doesn't matter at all what we think. For a second I consider the people he'd have had to deal with. The kings and lords who thought they could buy their way out of death. The ones who'd threatened and attacked him. Who'd said they knew people who knew people.

And all they were for him was just another person. And the people they knew, judges who'd jail him, kings who'd have his head, all of them would one day follow him to whatever was waiting for them too. What good would all their money do them?

All of that would mean nothing to this being. And next to even that, my impudence was nothing.

Not that that was going to stop me.

"Why would you do that?" I demand.

He shrugs, infuriating me further. "I don't like to lose."

I exhale, keeping myself under control. Fighting with him won't get me anywhere. "Alright…" I mutter. "Well, it's your turn." A chess board has materialised while I wasn't looking, and I just want to get it over with.

Death sits down. "Well, given what you were trying to do," he said, moving his queen out of danger, "I will do that."

I feel myself deflating. Maybe some part of me was hoping for some mercy. I should have gone with a luck based game instead. Just throwing dice or something. Now I'm going to need to devise a whole new strategy, and that left me behind overall. We're fairly even in captures, but now he has a plan and I don't.

Fuck.

"I must retreat," I say blankly. "Nothing more I can do there." I back the knight away from where it was, which is now under threat from his queen, as it would be if it checked the king. There wasn't much more I could do. No more traps to set up.

Still, the game isn't lost. Not yet.

I'm behind, sure. But the game is still on.

There are weaker, more obvious strategies I could do. I could split my time between two simple ones and try to confound him, but he is a good player. I doubt it would work. I start formulating new ideas, and more than anything I do not let my anger allow me to make any silly moves.

I have my queen, one bishop, one knight, both rooks, and about half my pawns. I can make do.

For half an hour we play. I don't make much headway, and at one point he manages to slip me and take my remaining bishop. By the end of the session it's gone downhill somewhat. But then, with the usual excuse of his busy life (or whatever it is he experiences) he disappears.

Great.

On leaving I have two choices. I can turn right, go home and fume to myself for a few hours, maybe vent on Team Fortress or something. Or I can turn left, go to Kenny's and fume to him for a few hours instead.

He'd listen. He always listens.

There's not really a choice then, is there? I start walking.

Fifteen minutes walk later I'm outside his house. I knock. It's Karen who answers. "Hi Kyle," she says in the usual shy way.

"Hey, is Kenny around?"

"In his room. You want to see him?"

"If I could." Karen lets me in and returns to the television. The parents seem to be out. Maybe that's a good thing. I go down the corridor and knock on Kenny's door. He opens pretty quickly.

"Hey Kyle."

I nod. "Hi, I need to talk to you." He jerks his head invitingly and I walk in.

"Sure." I push the door shut behind me. Kenny sits on his bed, and I take his chair. "What's up?"

"Death."

I fancy I see his eyes darken a little with his mood. "Oh," he says. We're quiet for a few seconds, while I figure out what to say.

"I-"

"It didn't work did it?" Kenny asks, cutting me off. Did I mention he's a good reader? He ought to start playing poker or something.

"No," I say. "Though can I say in my defence that he did cheat?"

Kenny's head cocks. "I know little of chess," he says slowly, "but isn't it a tough game to cheat?"

"He was listening in when I told you what I was going to do," I explain. "I would have had him otherwise. Now I think I'm just going to keep strategy to my damn self."

Kenny nods glumly. "But you can still win though, right?"

I shrug. "Theoretically speaking, yes. I could also lose, and…" I don't finish the sentence. How can I?

"And?" Kenny presses.

If anyone can forgive me it's Kenny McCormick. I sigh, then decide it'd be best to just come clean.

"Well… This can't go beyond you and me, okay?"

"Sure, Kyle."

"Remember I said if I win, I get my soul back?"

"Uh huh?"

"Well… Death doesn't play for nothing." I see his face darken again. "I had to wager a soul to even be able to play." And again. "And he'd only settle for you, Stan or fatass." And again. The silence hangs in the air for a little too long. "It was one of you or all three of you." He still says nothing. It's unsettling. It's like his eyes are looking straight at my soul, two cobalt beams that strip away everything and look right at my essence. Fuck, it feels weird. "I'm sorry."

The silence hangs in the air for an uncomfortably long time. I stare at him, and he glares right back. After a number of minutes, he glances towards the door, then gets up. "Follow me," he says. All the energy in his voice has gone. It's closer to a growl now. He's pissed off, I can tell.

He climbs out of his window, grabbing his parka off his chair as he passes. I follow him. He leads me out round the back of his house, down a light incline to the edge of the conifer forest. "Where are we going?" I ask him.

"Somewhere private," he states. He walks into the forest and I follow him. A short ways in, far enough in that we can't be seen even in bright orange jackets, but not so far that we can't see the edge and beyond that the light of the houses, he stops.

"Okay, this'll do nicely," he says.

"For what?" I ask. He turns to look at me.

I'm not entirely sure what he did next. There was a blur of blonde hair and orange parka, then the next thing I knew I was on the ground, my jaw had exploded in pain and I could definitely taste blood.

I might have deserved that.

"You absolute fuck!" Kenny yelled at me, booting me in the gut. "What the fuck made you think that was fucking alright!?" He boots me again.

I hold my hands up, trying to appeal for him to stop kicking me. I thank god that he's wearing soft snow boots and nothing any tougher, because his response was to instead continue.

I try to reason with him. "Kenny, it was-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Alright, that's not going to work. I just curl up instead, and try to tank out the damage. It feels like he's tiring out, at least. After a few more hits, he uses his foot to roll me over. I think for a second he's going to help me up.

Then he gives me an almighty final kick in the balls before collapsing against a tree behind him. Not that I'm in a better state, obviously - I'm writhing on the floor clutching at my ball sack having to deal with the overwhelming afterglow of red, horrible pain. Kenny can really kick well.

After a while, the aching dies down enough that I can claw my way into a sitting position against the nearest tree to Kenny's. I don't think he's broken anything too major, but it still fucking hurts. I feel like I might throw up, I'm definitely going to have some boot print shaped bruises tomorrow. And that's leaving aside my still aching balls.

"Alright," Kenny says, clearly trying very hard to stay calm now. "Would you like to fucking explain yourself?"

"Explain what?" I ask.

He glares at me. I hear his breathing get significantly louder. "What fucking made you think it was ever alright to fucking gamble other people's lives just to save yours?" he elaborates, teeth very grit.

I shake my head. "It's not alright, I know, I just…"

He shrugs and widens his eyes in a way that's definitely sarcastic. "Did it anyway?" he asks.

"I thought I could win. Easily." His glare doesn't stop. "I know it's not an excuse, but you know how good I am at chess, right?" He still doesn't stop glaring, but he nods once, slowly and reluctantly, like he was confirming the alibi that got him off the murder charge, except that alibi was that he was with the police chief's wife at the time. "And I was kind of right, he did have to cheat," I continue.

"Even so," he says lowly. "You shouldn't have done it, Kyle, and…" He sighs. "What are Stan and Cartman going to think, huh? When you tell them that if you lose this game then they're screwed? That there's nothing that they can fucking do to save themselves if you pick them to fall with you?"

I look down. It was exactly this sort of thing I'd been trying not to think about. "I'm sorry."

"That's not going to help them when they find a fucking scythe through their neck."

"He doesn't have a-"

"Well, whatever!" he barks. I don't respond. The heavy silence hangs there for a few minutes. Then he speaks up again. "Kyle, I'm going to give you some very clear instructions now."

"What?" I ask.

He looks me in the eye. "If you lose, you're going to take me with you."

I shake my head. "No, not you."

"I'm not giving you a choice, Kyle. Nobody ever deserves to die. Not you, not Stan, not Cartman, not me. Right now I can stop them from dying, so that's what I'm going to do. That way at least I get some fucking control over what happens to me."

I'm on the verge of retorting, but I don't. He's right.

"And if you don't then I am busting this thing right open to the other guys. Frankly I should do that anyway but they'd only freak out."

"Okay, fine," I say, surrendering.

He sighs. I can see that the anger from earlier is gone. That's something, at least.

"You shouldn't have fucking done that, Kyle," he reminds me.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. I mean it. And I think he knows I mean it. But there's no forgiveness in his eyes. Not for me. Not today.

"Come on," he mutters, getting up and walking back towards the edge of the forest.

I follow him back to his house, but he's closed his window before I get a chance to climb back in. Okay, he's pissed. And I entirely understand why.

I need to sleep. I go home.

The next day comes and goes as routinely as could be expected. I go to school, endure a few absolute death glares from Kenny but nothing more out of the ordinary than that, come home from school, then head down Stark's for the evening session.

I set the table up, though I know he could probably provide one if need be, if he can magic up a chess board every time we play.

I wait.

I check the time. Five twelve. He's normally on time. Five o'clock sharp. I even timed my phone in to his appearances, or at least the scheduled ones. Of course he is rather opportunistic when I'm alone and it's convenient.

Did he cancel or something?

I'm on the verge of folding the table and chair back up and heading home, when I hear crunching behind me. I turn around, and there he is.

"Terribly sorry," he says as he approaches. I look back at the table, and the board and a chair have materialised. "I got a bit caught up in a job."

"I'm sure," I say, not really sure if I want to know.

"She clung on a little too much. That's always terrible, when that happens. Some people just aren't ready."

I cock my head at him as he sits down. "Is anyone ever ready?"

He very coolly elaborates without missing a beat, something that annoys me a little bit. I mean, I'd quite like to catch him out. Just once. "Well, most people aren't ready in the sense you're thinking of, but then there are some who cannot accept that they are dead. Regardless of whether or not you win this game, you are going to die, are you not?"

I nod. "Of course, I'd just like another half a century or so between then and now."

He nods. I don't think there's sympathy behind it, but I do think he's trying. "Everyone would. You had a game convenient though, so you get the chance. However some people do fight and fight until they wear out. Myself, I can wait."

Somehow I know I'm going to regret this. "What exactly happened?"

"Well, there are many occasions where I cannot get to a person before they actually die. Ideally such an exchange needs to be somewhere private or somewhere public, where I could go unnoticed. If I turn up in a hospital or a warzone, though, I seldom get that chance so I can only collect people once they are dead." I wince at the use of the word "collect". I realise I'm clutching the arms of my chair a little tighter than is comfortable so I consciously loosen the grip.

"This girl, she was with a group of friends so I couldn't get to her alone. She didn't have the chance." He sighs and looks down towards his lap. "It was something of a traumatic death. Two of them were hit by a speeding car. One survived, but was left very much unconscious. The girl in question, she died fairly instantly but of course wanted to make sure her friend was alright. I tried to explain to her that nobody could see her, I tried pointing out her corpse, but she wouldn't listen. It was admirable, really."

I nod slowly.

"It took ten minutes, before the ambulance took her to a hospital, that she actually realised that she wasn't miraculously unhurt, that she was worse off. That was when she calmed down enough for me to explain to her what the situation was. And then, of course, travel from Jakarta to Colorado does take a while even for me. Hence my delay."

"…right." I think of something then. "Do you have to be present for every death that happens?"

Death really does think about that. "Technically not, I suppose, there are ways around it. But, call me sentimental but I think it needs a personal touch."

"Because if it takes you time to get halfway across the world, you'd miss some, wouldn't you?" I ask.

"That is true. But normally I keep a very tight schedule so as to miss as few as possible." He sits up a little. "Anyway, I don't come here to converse, enjoy it though I may. I believe it to be white to move." I nod, remembering likewise. The game recommences.

After quite a few moves from both sides I take a minute out to look at the board. From the current position, Death has something of an advantage. Unless I can come up with some absolute magic, or Death gets merciful all of a sudden, I can't see any way of me having my queen within about ten moves. I'll definitely have no bishops or knights within five, but that leaves two rooks and they're nice and powerful. Plus I've still got three pawns, he's down to one, and that's still on his side of the board.

"As much as I understand your taking time in your decisions," he says, "I do rather have places to be."

"I know, I know," I say. I notice it comes off a bit defensively, but either he doesn't or he doesn't think it worthy of note. I opt to prolong the game as long as I can. I check his king with my knight. He captures it, the only move he can make, opening up an opportunity to capture his rook with my remaining bishop. It also rechecks the king. Once again, he captures the bishop. So, he's slightly weakened, but I've lost a bit of power too. And I've made him make some moves that might have not wanted to make. Put him behind a little bit.

"Oh, I forgot," I say as I make my next move, more of a time waster than anything, "In the event I lose, I've decided who is going to come with."

"Oh?" he asks. He's polite but I think he's not actually interested. He probably already knows, being as he's already spied on me at least once.

"Kenny."

His eyebrows go up. "Well, I was not expecting that."

"Oh?"

He looks up at me. "I was expecting that if you were going down and had the opportunity to take someone with you, you'd take Eric Cartman."

I completely understand his point. But Kenny was right. "Nobody deserves to die."

"And yet Kenny-"

"Volunteered," I cut him off.

He nods. "Noble." He moves. "Now, if you don't mind I am going to have to leave now." I nod. Of course he's going to leave. Still, at least it's my go this time and I can put a bit of thought into what to do next. I stand up to leave, and in the moment between when I look down as I start standing and when I look back up once standing, he's disappeared.

I sigh a bit loudly, but who's around to hear?

I head on home, trying not to think about the game. I don't want to think about it, of course, but since Death cheated - and he did fucking cheat - it's been slowly going downhill. A lot of my power pieces will be gone imminently, and while most of the piece taking has been trading one piece for another, he'll have my queen and I won't have his. That gives him a very big advantage.

I could still win, of course. But probably not.

My mind drifts back to what Kenny said. What was I thinking?

Because I wasn't ready to die? Was that my excuse? Nobody is ever ready to die.

No. That's not my excuse. I know what my excuse actually is, it's just so fucking stupid. At best it was a long shot.

And then will I even be able to face Kenny when Death comes for us? I'll have killed him. His blood will be all over me.

I open the door to my house and head straight upstairs to my room, ignoring my parents and my brother. I shut the door and lie on my bed.

I think about telling someone else. Maybe Stan.

No. Kenny was right. He'd freak out. I wouldn't entirely put it past him to try and exchange his own life for mine, and I am not living in a world where my only living friend is Eric Cartman and I'm entirely responsible for the deaths of the two dead ones.

I think about other people, who might not freak out. Craig? He'd be no help at all. Tweek? He'd freak out. Butters?

Hm. Butters could be a good person to confide in. Wait - no, Cartman would find out straight away. Absolutely not.

Clyde? No. Jimmy? No. Timmy? No. Ike? Definitely not. Token? No. Nobody that would be any use springs to mind. I sigh.

Instead I just decide to sleep on it.

---

I look down at the board. It's all but over. It has been for a while.

We've been playing for longer than usual this time. He took all the pieces I expected he would. Now he's virtually won.

I'm down to only my two rooks and my king. I couldn't get my pawns promoted. He's got his queen and two rooks.

Mine are aligned, at least.

He moves. "Check."

I move my king behind one of the rooks. He can't recheck me without risking his queen now. That gives me some advantage, not that it counts for much at this point.

He immediately moves his queen to check my king again, but this time I can capture it. I'll lose one rook, and basically all hope of winning unless he does something moronic, and he's not going to.

Nonetheless, what else can I do? Move the king? I'd be mated straight away.

I capture his queen, he captures my rook. Two rooks against one. I know exactly what happens now.

He moves. "Check," he repeats.

I can't capture. I move the king away. His other rook moves to block any escape attempt. The only thing between him and a checkmate is my own rook.

He thinks for a while before moving the rook that's not against the side of the board over, leaving two spaces between them. I just advance mine one square. Then he moves it down.

I can't move my king off its current row now. The rook has line of sight on the next row, and it'd be three moves before I could capture it.

But I do still have my rook. I move it back down. It's being covered by my king. He'd have to sacrifice his own to take it.

He promptly moves his rook to my king's row. "Check."

I move it out. He re-checks it. I move out again, towards the middle of the board. He checks me again.

Then I move again, and his other rook comes down to check me this time.

That's it then. Two walls my king cannot pass, advancing towards the side of the board. Checkmate in five moves.

I move back, back, back until my king is against Death's side of the board. His queen's side rook moves back two spaces to check me again. "Check."

Final move. I move my rook back, blocking his own. He captures. "Checkmate."

I deflate. I lost. I've condemned myself. I've condemned Kenny too.

I failed.

"Don't feel too bad about it, Kyle," Death says, looking at that pocket watch - my watch - again. He winds the top up a little, then pushes the button. The ticking resumes. "Next time we meet, I take you and your friend. But I've given you a bit of extra time." He smiles at me, head still pointed at my watch but his eyes looking through the choppy blonde bangs that I am resisting an urge to rip out of his stupid, stupid head. "Just for closure, you know?"

"Of course," I say through grit teeth. "Thank you."

He smiles. I sigh, and in the split second I'm not looking he disappears. There's just me and the chess set - now reset to starting positions - and Stark's pond.

I breathe heavily. I close my eyes. I am going to remain calm.

I scream at the sky and boot the chess board into the water.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!" I yell at nothing in particular.

I seethe, but what is there to take it out on?

I know what I have to do. It's late at night, so there's nobody around. I start walking home.

I don't know why, but the walk back seems longer. And harder. It's flat most of the way, but it feels like I'm trying to scale the south face of K2. My legs feel ready to give out at any moment.

Somehow I make it home. I force the door open and make my way upstairs, hauling my weight up by the banister. I almost go into my own room to just collapse and cry, but I don't. Instead I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

For some reason I thought I'd look a mess but I don't. I was expecting huge bags under my eyes, for my face to be really thin, and for my hair to be sticking out everywhere, gaunt and lifeless. Instead I'm paler than usual, and look a bit ill or tired or something, but by and large I look normal. Huh.

Maybe it's because I thought that now that I know that it's over it would all go to hell. I'd go nuts for my last few despairing hours or something, like I belonged in a padded room where my dinners would get served through a cat flap in the door and I'd hurl my own shit at passers by through the bars of the room.

But it just looks like I could do with an hour or two of sleep. I butt my head against the mirror.

"Well done, Kyle," I see myself quietly say to me. "You killed Kenny." I look down, away from my reflection. "You bastard."

I stand up straight. I straighten out my coat. I adjust my hat.

I leave the bathroom and walk down the corridor.

I pass my parents' room first. They've left the door open. They normally do. I don't intrude. I just stand at the door and look at them. They look so damn peaceful. I warned them I'd be out late tonight so they wouldn't be fretting over me, but… I don't know, people just look way more at peace when they're asleep.

They won't know I didn't make it back until tomorrow morning.

I go back towards the stairs, and pass Ike's room. I open the door really carefully so that I don't wake him up. He's wrapped up in his bed sheets, sleeping a bit fitfully like a hyperactive six year old would be expected to. I almost go in, but I don't want to wake him up. Instead I lean in slightly to grab a pad of paper and a pencil from Ike's desk. But once I've got it I don't know what to write.

It takes me a few minutes but eventually I just replace them, where they were on his desk. I look at him again, before I close the door.

My last stop is my own room.

I pause outside the door, but I can't look in there. I grew up in that room. I lived my entire life there. There are too many memories. And I don't want this to be any more painful than it already is.

I go back downstairs and leave. I don't have any intention of being anywhere near here when he comes for me. I don't want to put them through that.

I turn towards Kenny's house. Walking there is easier than it was earlier - maybe the shock or realisation or whatever has died down a little now - but my feet are still far heavier than they should be.

I cross the railroad tracks and get to the run down house. The light is still on in Kenny's room so I knock on his window. He comes, sees me, then points towards the door. I go over there, and after a few seconds he unlocks it and opens up. "What is it?" he asks.

Then I finally collapse. I fall into him. He catches me and lowers me to my knees as the tears start coming.

"Oh," he breathes, knowing exactly what has happened as I start crying into his stomach. He lets me. He holds my head gently, pats my back, and makes out like everything is going to be alright. Of course it isn't and he knows it, but it's comforting.

After a few minutes he lifts me up a little. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take me somewhere," I force out through the grief. "Somewhere private. Away from here."

He nods. "I know a place." He runs back inside for a few seconds, then comes out displaying two sets of keys. He helps me to the garage, inside which is his dad's car, the beaten up green pickup truck. He pushes the door up and I get into the passenger seat. He pulls his parka hood up and draws the strings tight before starting the engine. It takes a few tries but it goes eventually.

"You can drive?" I ask, wiping the last few tears away.

"Mhm." He manoeuvres out around the dilapidated station wagon in front of the garage and onto the road. "I joyride," he admits. I don't respond. After a few minutes of silence, just as we're turning onto 285, I recline the chair backwards.

"I need to sleep a little, alright?" I ask, slowly returning my voice to normal. He nods, concentrating on the road. He's a good driver to be fair, and I'd not guess he was underage while he had his hood up. The ride's fairly loud, but smooth enough that I fall asleep after a few minutes.

When he shakes me awake I look around. We're back in Denver. It must nearly be dawn now - the sky is starting to grey a little. We get out of the car. He leads me into one of the taller buildings, a pristine new glass skyscraper. He leads me up twenty one floors, and with the other set of keys he had he unlocks a door, leading into what looked like it was meant for living in but was actually being used as landfill. I look around.

"It's Craig's dad's," Kenny tells me. "After the divorce he moved here. I managed to get a key from him."

"From Craig's dad?" I ask sceptically.

"Craig," he clarifies. "Thomas is hardly ever in though. It's private." He sits down against the window - it's one of those apartments where the windows make up an entire wall, and right now it's looking out on a horrible looking storm cloud. How appropriate. I sit down next to him.

"So this is it then," I lament. I failed. Now I've gotten my friend killed. I lean my head back against the window and exhale.

"No," Kenny says quietly. I look at him. "This is never it." He smiles at me, then puts his hand on mine.

"Gay," I say. Kenny chuckles.

We don't talk for a while then. But I feel I owe Kenny an explanation.

"You want to know why I did it?"

Kenny looks at me, his expression now hardened a little. "Yeah," he says flatly.

I look away. I can't look him in the eye while I tell him this. "All my life I just…" I pause to collect thoughts. "I don't feel like I've done anything really worthwhile." I can hear him taking in breath to speak so I cut him off. "Like, I know every other week we all stopped the next impending disaster, I get that, but after the first few times it just kind of felt…"

"Routine," he states.

"Yeah. It just feels like I'm being dumped in the next area, told to stop the bad thing and left to it. After a while it all just faded away into a background noise, I was, like, asking myself 'Why the fuck am I even here? Why is it always me?' It just didn't feel like I was really getting anywhere."

Kenny stays silent so I carry on. "And now Death comes along, and tells me that I'm dead in twenty minutes. I figured maybe… I know this is going to sound like total bullshit, but from the sound of it he made it seem like everything was decided. He had this pocket watch thing that he wound up to give me the extra time here." I see him nod in my peripheral vision. "I thought maybe I could change something and it really, really mean something. Like… Maybe something would happen that if I've got this extra time, I can stop from happening. Change the course of the world."

"You-"

"I know there's a lot of problems with that, all the fucking philosophy that comes up around it and fuck if I'm getting into philosophy again, but… At the time it seemed like a good idea."

Kenny nods slowly. "So… Did you manage to do that?"

"No," I say sadly.

"Wrong." Again, he smiles, lit up by a lightning bolt. Considering how he's been about what I went and did, it seems really warm and gentle. "Everything you ever did is meaningful. What you're doing right now is meaningful." He squeezes my hand.

"How?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It won't always be apparent straight away, don't get me wrong. But everything has meaning, purpose, you know?" He cocks his head for a second. "D'you know of the butterfly effect?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe the story and the shitty movie exaggerated the effect a bit, but the theory's sound. Think about it. Everything that had to happen to get us here right now. How many of the tiny little things that someone said, or did, brought this about."

I nod, thinking about that.

"And everything you've done is one of those little events. In a year you'd look back and realise all the things that you did that meant other things could happen." He shrugs. "You don't have to save lives and prance around in pyjamas to be a hero."

I nod. I find myself smiling a little. "Kenny?"

"Yeah?"

I open my mouth, then stop. I try again. "Do…" I take a deep breath this time. "Do you forgive me?" I ask.

He closes his eyes for a second, sighs, but then smiles at me again. "Always," he promises. I know, from his tone I know that he might still hate me for what I did. But his forgiveness sure does make me feel a lot better about it. I smile back at him, then lean forward and wrap my free arm around his back.

"Thank you," I whisper into his ear. I feel his free arm wrap around me, and for a second I actually feel okay. We disengage.

Then I look behind me. A lightning strike happens at that exact moment, and just for a second I'm certain I see something in the clouds. A skeletal angel. A huge one.

"He's here," I say. Kenny nods, having also turned back and seen it.

Then he looks at me. "Did you say your farewells?"

"I didn't want to," I say, shrugging. "I was going to but… I'd rather people remember me as I was, I want their last memories of me to be just me, not a fucking tearful goodbye or anything." Kenny nods. I don't think he agrees with me but at the very least he understands. "What about you?"

"Just to Karen. I said I might be gone for a while."

I look at him for a second. "Are you alright, leaving her like that?" Not that he has a choice now anyway.

He just grins slyly at me. "She'll be just fine."

We wait. As a last thought, looking out at the storm and thinking about farewells, I pull my phone out. I go into messaging. I send a single word to Stan.

Goodbye.

Then I throw the phone aside.

"Hello," comes the voice behind us. I turn around, and there he is. The blonde man in the trench coat. "Time's up."

I nod. Kenny nods too. I don't let go of his hand.

He smiles. "Turn around," he says. We do. We're still sitting down against the window. "Do you wish to see it?" Neither of us responds at all. We watch as a lightning bolt comes down against the window. We watch as it smashes through the glass with a tremendous BOOM! and hits one of us. I can't tell which of us was hit. Then we watch as our bodies fall backward, out of the window, and down to the ground below.

And that's it.

We're dead.

I'm not shocked or anything. I don't despair. I knew it was going to happen. Maybe I wasn't at terms with it, but who ever is?

"Time to go," Death says. He looks out at the storm, which is rapidly dissipating.

"Is that what you really look like?" I ask, staring at the remnants of the storm cloud.

He nods. "It is a close approximation, at the very least." He steps behind us. Thomas Tucker's apartment is fading away now, being replaced by something. A heavy void, the only thing permeating into it being the sunrise that will illuminate Denver when Death leaves. That will fall on our cold corpses.

"Follow me," he says. Kenny and I look at each other, then we turn around and follow him into the sun.

I never let go of his hand.