An exercise from my EPGY days. We were supposed to rewrite an excerpt from a different point on view. The original text was from Waverly's point of view. She's a young girl who excels at chess. I don't know if you guys are interested in reading my prose, but this is one of my favorites, I think. I love narrative description writing (:
The Battlefront
Seated in my chair, I patiently waited for my next opponent to come to the table before me. I knew the board well – this was my battlefield, where I spent my hours fighting over a territory of black and white squares. I wiped my brow with a white handkerchief given to me by my late mother, cursing the stuffy heat of the high school auditorium and wishing it was air-conditioned. I picked at the material of my suit, wishing I had chosen a lighter one. I grunted to myself, “A soldier must be prepared for war in all circumstances, regardless of air-conditioning.” I wrinkled my nose. “Or lack thereof.”
“Hello.” A dainty little voice chirped up. I gave a start. I hadn’t noticed exactly when she had sat down, but I now found myself staring incredulously at a nine-year-old Chinese girl, her pale face tinted a delicate flush. She wore a look of triumph that sparkled in her eyes and lifted her chin. I assumed her previous match went well. Her dark hair was pulled back into neat braids that looked too tight, clipped with plastic rhinestone barrettes that looked both cheap yet presentable at the same time.
I smiled back at her, feeling a twinge of amusement. Never in all my forty-eight years of combat at the black and white battlefront, had I ever had to match wits with a child such as this – she reminded me of a cupcake, with her pink and white dress and little-girl demeanor, swinging her legs and tilting her head.
Then all of a sudden we were poised to fight, leaning forward, fingers on our chess pieces. Something shifted in her eyes; they narrowed and glinted like steel. “Let the game begin.” I challenged softly. Her only reply was to finger her first pawn lightly, and I could see the many strategies flying across her mind behind her eyes like a flock of evening birds.
She moved like lightning, her slim fingers deftly executing maneuver after maneuver; A trap here, an escape there. We exchanged blows, but I was consciously aware that I was taking one step forward, two steps back. She too seemed to realize this, and she brought her hand down from midair and firmly planted her chosen piece in its new position, flashing a triumphant smile. I was suddenly aware that I was sweating profusely, and reached for my handkerchief again. If I did not act wisely and quickly, the game could very well end swiftly in just a matter of moves.
My king moved forward to take her knight. I heard her determinedly mutter under her breath something about throwing sand from the east. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the concentration in her eyes was enough to tell me of some danger that lay ahead unbeknownst to me. Turning back to the ongoing battle, I frowned deeply and could do nothing but watch as she cornered me once again.
“Check.” She smiled sweetly – partly for me, partly for the camera, which I hadn’t noticed before. This was the first time, in the two hours the game lasted for, that she had looked up from the board. I admitted defeat in good spirits, roaring with laughter, for I had never imagined I would chance upon the opportunity to try my luck against this formidable little girl with the dear little dimples and the glowing eyes alight with victory.
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