The rattle of chess pieces speak instead. I glance up, watching the black king fall into its bag. *It was me.* A rook. *You needed help.* A bishop. *Protection.* A pawn. *You could not fight the nightmares on your own.* A white queen falls last, not quite matching the other ones, as if the true piece had been stolen. *You are not mine, it says, but sometimes, I think you are.* The bag closes tight. *I’m sorry.* He turns his head to me, then. I do not look away. There is something on my face — water; I hope it tells him what I want to say, for words would ruin it.
I glance up, watching the black king fall into its bag.
*It was me.*
A rook.
*You needed help.*
A bishop.
*Protection.*
A pawn.
*You could not fight the nightmares on your own.*
A white queen falls last, not quite matching the other ones, as if the true piece had been stolen.
*You are not mine, it says, but sometimes, I think you are.*
The bag closes tight.
*I’m sorry.*
He turns his head to me, then. I do not look away. There is something on my face — water; I hope it tells him what I want to say, for words would ruin it.