We all have secrets #skeletonkeys

“You don’t win by not fighting at all”

• Staring into the desolate valley reeking of dead mawn he drags the body into the trunk of his 1972 Ford country cedan, he slams the trunk closed, negligent as to whether part of the body was caught in-between of course it wasn’t. He throws Rose the car keys nodding twice, he was sure she understood letting the key fall into her arms she jacked open the weak door and settled in with imposed haste. He steps back as she starts the ignition rearing the engine for effect she drives off leaving a fog of dust in her wake going 60km/h on the old Cedan. He watches for long enough until the dust in the air becomes unbearable he starts to walk back into the cave, mimicking events in his head, he was close now, he needed to be discreet still everything depended on the next move, he had come too far and sacrificed too much to let his hard work go to waste. Deandre brushes his palm through the rough knobbly surface pressing into the damp cave, darkness dissolving as he pressed on with a torch in his hand. Feeling his palm accumulate the sandy clay that was swept off as he continues to make his way deeper, straight ahead not turning. Just walking very slowly as if he were relishing the moment. The open space he had learned to call home fell into view as light finally smothered the darkness out of the cave, at the center sat a wooden table, poorly chiseled but a table none the less, a chess board rested on the weaker edge, the left corner was clustered with weapons, Deandre never used them but the sight of them gave him comfort, he had told his daughter once “a man who walks into battle with his hands alone is less likely to scare off the enemy” then, Rose was only 40years old, too young to possible grasp the mechanics of the world but he had taught her anyway, every chance he got he would teach her and her sister, but she was always more willing. Her white hair wound up in a ponytail, she would hop around in her gown, skipping happily into his chambers every morning eager to learn but Yelena wasn’t the same, she didn’t want to study she wanted to run, like her mother she was magnificent at it, she was beautiful and powerful but he only saw her whenever he was permitted to, before he was taken from them, her eyes glaring at him as she watched him dragged away like a prisoner, his arms stretched forth for both his daughters, but only one came, the other looked him in the eye and turned to another man, as he bled, battered and assaulted she asked the man “Father did the servant do something wrong?” he jams his fist into the cave walls sending a shock wave through his entire body, drawing his fist back slowly he sees blood trickle down his arms, sparing no more time he pushes his way past his bed, or at least a bundle of sand heaped in a rectangular shape just about his size and height mounted to the right corner of his little shack. He walks towards the silver box on the table, he had brought it with him as he crossed the portal, he runs his left palm over the edges, taking his time, he forces his other palm open, it is evident he has sustained a fair amount of broken bones as he struggles to run up the code. After a few moments of fidgeting with the box a click rises from it. Good, he was starting to grow impatient. He opens the box slowly, welcoming the stench of blood as he did, dried blood, he yanks the head by its hair examining he boy intently, he died angry, he gathers from the expression he wore, his eye brows twisted together gathering the lines on his fore head, his mouth was still open, but the fangs had disappeared, now? He just looked like a bad comic book character. Deandre walked over to where his weapons are stacked, beside it lay a long row of spears plunged into the stand so they stand firmly, some of them have heads on them, male female children, he lights up inside as he walks towards them holding the latest addition by the hair, they look neatly diced, all of them, like they were slowly and perfectly severed from the bodies and in fact they were, he made sure of that. Most of them looked scared, terrified even, and that made it worth it but this one, he looked…different he should have been scared but then again he had company when he made that kill he couldn’t torture the soul out of it, he had been merciful, it would not happen again he assured himself as he mounted the head one of the empty spears, turning it till it settled perfectly like the others, still hoping somehow that he could correct the expression to fear instead, but for now it could be overlooked. He does a quick survey of all of them, “Jedna, Dva, Tři, Čtyři, Pět, Šest, Sedm, Osm, Devět” he counts to nine, he had done it a million times and he was certain how many he had but he was thorough, “nine down, eleven to go” he walks back towards the box and snaps it closed, falling into his creative excuse for a bed he resumes mimicking evens in his head, planning his next move, he returns to the chest board, his castles were eliminated so were his bishops and knights, all that was left were his queen and his pawns, but some of the best wars are won with pawns, if you knew how and when to use them he reminded himself, realizing he had won, after so many losses, but still “Checkmate” he yelled. Hearing it echo through the cave somehow made victory a wee bit sweeter.