No Longer A Pawn
The pawn is the only piece on the board with the potential to become anything it wants.
Father used to always tell me, “Dami, never be ashamed of being a Pawn. It may look like the most inconsequential piece on the board, but it is the only one with the potential to be anything it wants to be.”
He would always say this whenever we got together to play chess, a game which, to father, was no different from a battle. I never won any of those battles, but I knew enough to spot the shortcomings of father’s favorite off-the-top piece of advice.
“But the Pawn can never become a King,” I would retort, each time, a hint of venom in my voice.
He would just smile that distant smile of his that held his many secrets.
“No. No, he can’t,” father would say after a little while, the smile still on his face. Somehow, I got the feeling he never truly meant that.
That only made me hate him even more.
You see, father was never really talking about chess pieces. No, he was talking about us. We were the Pawns, the lowest of the lows in the community, subject to the whims of our betters. And everyone was our better.
I had always known this from childhood. Watching father scramble around, bowing to every and anyone he came across, made that clear. So was the life of beggars in the Free City.
I was never really angry at that. It was simply how things were. Hierarchy exists. We just so happened to be at the bottom of that hierarchy.
No, the fact that we were Pawns wasn’t what made me angry. It was the hope that father’s words often aroused in me that did.
… the potential to be anything it wants to be…
Even the king.
I hate father for planting that seed in me, but I have to admit, he might have been on to something. So as I snuck up behind Kelvin, the leader of our little merry band of miscreants and cutthroats, knife in hand, ready to do what knives do, I couldn’t help but pray the old geezer knew what he was yapping about.
This Pawn was about to checkmate the king. That or get himself killed in a spectacularly gruesome manner.
As the knife in my hand made its way to Kelvin’s throat and the other hand to the fool’s mouth, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that crossed my mind as the knife did its work, opening Kelvin’s throat as wide as his eyelids in those final moments:
No longer a Pawn.
Precious Akilapa is a Jack of All Trades who hopes to one day become a Master of All. He probably never will, but he tries nonetheless. He writes everything from poetry to stories and essays. As a profession, Precious freelances as a content strategist and copywriter, and you can find him on both Freelancer and Upwork.
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