I thought I was a pawn

An expendable piece

Destined only to move forward, never look back

My only option sneak attacks from the side

Hoping for the slim chance of

Becoming a queen

But I was wrong

I thought I was a king

Locked up under guard in my castle

Movement restricted to single, shuffling steps

My only purpose staying alive,

My only prerogative safety

But I was wrong

I thought I was a knight

Leaping over people's heads

In these lopsided, chaotic jumps

Never to be properly understood

Just a distraction, a diversion

While the important people do the work

But I was wrong

I thought I was a bishop

Moving with pretend purpose

Limited to this one colour,

No permission granted to explore the other side

I must attack, again and again, from my

Righteous holier-than-thou

But I was wrong

I thought I was a rook

A stately piece, reliable, works best in pairs

With the power to stride as far as I choose

If the game gets that far,

If the walls that confine my starting space

Ever manage to shift

But I was wrong

I might just be a queen

Moonwalking on ledges,

she dramatically exits.

:)

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:(

The last time I danced with death, I stepped on his toes. Not many people can say that they’ve met death and lived to tell the tale, but I’ve done more than met him. I’ve talked with him, walked with him, even waltzed with him. You may think that death is more of a tango kind of guy, but trust, me he much prefers the waltz. Or that’s what he told me, anyway. Now that I think about it, maybe he was just saying that to get me to let my guard down. My story should be a warning to all: when you’re in the same room as death, you should never turn your back on him. No matter how charming he is, you must never let your guard down. Because that is all just a guise to get what he really wants: your heart. Not in a romantic sense, however it comes across, but in a literal sense. In order to remain the same age physically, death must consume someone’s heart once every thousand years. This can’t be just any random stranger’s heart, though, it must be given to him willingly. Trusting death was the whole reason I got into this mess, and it’s fitting that the last thing I do on this earth, as I bleed out into the very paper I’m writing this message on, that I am trusting you, reader, to heed my warning and stay far, far away from death. There is no sure way to spot him in a crowd, because he is always changing his appearance. However, there is a way to defeat him once you are certain that it is really death you have come into contact with. He has one weakness, one way to bring him crumbling down faster than a burning building. That weakness is—