Submitted for the February 2024 prompt: On This Special Day

Yoros crunches sand beneath his toes, as the sun creeps up over the western horizon radiating new light across the sky. A pink sprinkling of champagne bubbles top each wave as they take their turn to break. It’s a beautiful morning for a run.

 

Yoros charges along the beach, punishing his calf muscles, challenging his lungs, burning his thighs. He slaps the sandstone cliff that borders the end of the beach, drops his head over his knees and pants. A twinge. Instinct throws his hand to his knee, bending it, testing it, running his finger down the scar. A new hurt tests his heart. To be playing again…

 

He scans along the beach back towards the resort. The palm trees sway in a gentle breeze, the sun colors the sky a deeper blue. A flock of birds flutter and land in the branches of the trees. He strolls back, and after a quick dip in the swimming pool, enjoys a full smorgasbord breakfast. Today is granola and fruit salad day. “Perhaps a champagne,” he mutters. He calls it the Breakfast of Retired Champions. He wanders over to the bar with the dried palm leaf roof. A deliciously pretty girl cleans the spotless wooden bar.

 

“What can I get you, Yoros?” Her voice is sultry.

 

“I’d like champagne with breakfast today, Janet. Thank you.” He winks at her and turns back to his table.

 

“Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course.” Janet continues to repeat the phrase.

 

A chill runs down Yoros’ spine and he turns, eyes widening. “Wait… You’re a… robot?”

 

“Of course. Of course.” Janet repeats until her head dips and she falls silent, eyes glazed as though what life she had just left her.

 

Yoros steps backward bumping into a small table that had appeared next to his breakfast table. A chessboard is set ready to play, the first white pawn already moved to position e4.

 

He ponders the board as he munches his granola. “I think I remember how to play this.” He tries to pick up the white knight, but it won't budge. He tries the black queen, but only the black pawns move. He moves the black pawn to f5. The white pieces move on their own. He loses his first pawn. Two moves later, white wins with a checkmate.

 

Yoros shrugs and turns back to his breakfast. Janet seems to have recovered and delivers his glass of Moet with a smile. He knocks it back in one slug. Back to the swimming pool and a recliner in the sun. A massage in the afternoon. A cocktail at the bar in the evening. Sizzling steak for dinner.

 

* * *

 

Yoros leaves his bungalow before dawn as he always does and jogs along the beach until he reaches the sandstone cliff, rubbing his hand along the indentation on the cliff. The spot where he always marks the end of his run. He turns and marvels at the palm trees gently swaying in the breeze. A flock of birds flutter through the blue sky and land in the branches.

 

Walking back to the breakfast smorgasbord, he gathers his treats, a pyramid of croissants and danishes balanced on his plate; coffee, tea, orange juice, lined up in order of consumption. Janet, his young server, is more than happy to keep topping up his tea and coffee as required.

 

“Thank you, dear.” Yoros smiles at the younger woman, wondering if she could ever be interested in a middle-aged man like him. He dismisses the fanciful idea.

 

The chessboard appears next to him, as it always does. He loses a knight, and then a bishop. When he loses his queen, he grunts. With a shove, the table goes flying, chess pieces scattering across the floor. He stomps off toward the beach. It takes a few hours of floating in the waves before he can relax. By dinner time he is back to his chipper self.

 

“Fantastic. It’s curry night!” He grabs the beer beside his dish, and savors it all the way down.

 

* * *

 

Yoros leaves his bungalow before dawn as he always does. He walks along the beach until he reaches the sandstone cliff, rubbing his hand into the deep hole in the cliff where he always marks the end of his walk. He turns, counting the sways in the branches, three, two, one. A flock of birds, five, ten, twelve, flutter through the blue sky and land in the branches. The sun breathes color into the deep blue sky.

 

Sauntering back to his breakfast table, he lowers himself gingerly into the chair. His fingers make several moves on the chessboard before he even notices he’s playing. The white pieces charge in rapid response to his moves and countermoves. The young girl leaves breakfast on the table for him. He mindlessly eats the toast, and keeps playing.

 

The afternoon wears on and he dismisses the masseuse who comes looking for him. Yoros eats the lunch placed on the table, but doesn’t notice what it is.

 

“I think we’re heading to a stalemate, unless…” He ponders several more moves. He stands and paces back and forth, looking at the table from every angle.

 

The board makes an unexpected move. It takes the black rook. Yoros’ eyes open wide. He looks at each piece, the angles, the moves. This way. That way. Then it hits him. He’s won. Six moves to checkmate. His lips form a tight line, unwilling to accept it. If there was a hand to shake, he’d shake it. Instead he looks up, noticing that night had fallen. He meanders back to his bungalow by the beach.

 

* * *

 

One morning, Yoros does not get out of bed. The waves keep lapping at the beach. The branches still gently sway in the breeze. A flock of birds flap their wings and land in the branches as the sun breathes color into the sky. A chessboard appears by a breakfast table. The white pawn moves to e4.