gambit

The pieces felt right when he touched them, calculating each move. They were ground smooth and dark cherry brown. When he held the piece between his thumb and first two fingers, a sense of power crept into his head. This move, this could, no would guarantee him an advantage. The bishop slowly crossed empty squares, slowly passed a tragic knight and his own valiant pawn, and slowly rested on its deathbed. When he released his grasp, he discovered the bishop's head molded inside his fingerprint. The assailant hastily countered the move, almost too readily admitting defeat as he collected the entombed bishop. His mind smiled, the end game was beginning.