As We Grow Transparent

“You asked me to teach you chess and I’ve done that. It’s a useful mental exercise. Through the years many thinkers have been fascinated by it. But, I don’t enjoy playing. Do you know why not?

Because it was a game that was born during a brutal age when life counted for little and everyone believed that some people were worth more than others. Kings and pawns. I don’t think that anyone is worth more than anyone else. I don’t envy you the decisions you’re going to have to make. And one day I’ll be gone. And you’ll have no one to talk to.

But, if you remember nothing else, then please remember this. Chess is just a game. Real people aren’t pieces. You can’t assign more value to some of them than to others. Not to me. Not to anyone. People are not a thing that you can sacrifice. The lesson is… that anyone who looks on the world, as if it were a game a chess, deserves to lose.”

(Quoted from: Person Of Interest)


I’m breathing heavily.  My chest rises and falls with such strength I feel as though I could lift a car.  You’re lying on your back, languid in the grass, with one leg crossed at the knee and one shoe balanced on your toes.  You smile as you lift your foot up to block out the sun.  Maybe the beams of light are exploding through your toes.  I can’t tell.  You stare up, one eye closed and your forehead crunched.  The sharp six inch heel is still red with blood.

When the boy fell, we rounded on him like wolves.  Or you did, and I did what I was told.  Just a child in an adult’s game, you called him, and you showed him no mercy.  You told him that he shouldn’t run with those whom he can’t keep up with.  We rolled him over onto his stomach and I sat on his back, whilst you removed one of your heels and placed the stiletto point millimetres from one of his eyes.  I realised, as I fought to control the wriggling torso underneath me, that I wasn’t trying to stop him escaping anymore.  I was trying to stop him blinding himself.

You light a cigarette and lift your leg high, so your hairs are illuminated silver by the sun.  A blast of wind rattles the nearby fence, making the nettles nod and dance and clap.  As it swirls around me, I realise; even Mother Nature is giving you a standing ovation.

Author: jimmicampkin

Writer and photographer (and occasional other things) currently living in the North East of England. Everything is my own unless otherwise stated. So blame me.

4 thoughts on “As We Grow Transparent”

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