Butthole Surfers - Pepper
Chuck... or Will. Chuck Will is the man she had seen earlier that day. Tall, perhaps gaunt, it was a lanky west Texas frame that should be expected. He didn't care. She was there. She was his hart, his burning soul, passion incarnate. At least to him. To her... he was little more than a game. A pawn. A piece limited in moves. He was a fool. So happy in his slow advance. One space granted. While she, always the wise player, knew that he would move only in advancement of the queen, he believed that the gentle caress of his crown as she pressed him in direction meant something.
Something.
Anthing.
Her manipulation of the pieces was always exquisite. So long as this could be hidden from the other players, or even the pieces on the board, the manipulation had to be hidden. How else could the queen survive. For she was most important piece. Always thinking on her feet, to make sure that this mate was never checked. She would fondle, caress, maneuver the pieces so majestically... even her King, to insure her survival.
So it should come as little surprise that some of the pieces became so enamored with her touch. Once so young, so svelte, in this game never ending would feel so flattered. The slight touch filled her pieces so. The rook might feel like a Bishop. The Knight like a King. All merely from her embrace of the piece. Or the person. The fog of battle hides so much.
But she played wel.
So well.
The game could go on forever... or at least the pieces came to know that they were little more than pieces. What had worked so well in her majesty's youth waned as her touch became so calloused. Perhaps truth, perhaps lies, had caused this hardening. So it was. Some pieces began to detest her thickened touch. Moves became slow. Hardened.
And some began to refuse to respond to her touch at all.
So much for the queen.
So much.
