A thought too many

   Deep in thought and wide in heed

   I went whithersoever.

   And I known't where indeed

   where I have let myself proceed.

   Perhaps not the most clever deed,

   but not of my endeavour...

   The blackened trees veiled path unlit.

   Took both my legs - the stroll.

   And as we travelled, bit by bit,

   I fell,

         f

         e

         l

          l

         d

         o

         w

         n

         a

         h

         o

         l

         e

         .

         .

         .

   I think it quite a fortune that the bottom of this hole was unlike any other I have had the displeasure of discovering. A great many feathers of black and white fashioned a tickling layer of much comfort for anyone nifty enough to fall thereat. And for the surprise of my handiness, I have regained a sufficient amount of mental faculty to ponder my whereabouts.

   The room, or so it appeared, contained but walls and a door. Aught coloured in quite the formal nature of a checkerboard. Therefore, as this countenance soon grew to be of disinterest, the only reasonable thing to think of doing appeared to try whether the door handle is in the least a mite similar to those I have handled before. At this point, it happened to astonish me that it was.

   The door evinced a view of some peculiarity. For although there appeared a room quite the same as the previous one, amidst the checkerboard squares sat, upon the ground, a stranger. In his gray hair some weird pieces as if of the same nature as a checker piece, yet distinctly different, seemed to have found a nest. For this, truth be written, I was rather eager to come nearer. Thereupon following my eagerness, my sight fell about where the gentleman's laid fallen. The squares of the ground narrowed towards the centre - where we happened to be, forming a decent checkerboard. But instead of checker pieces, the board habituated pieces the very same as those within the old man's hair. He sat as if paralyzed, I scarcely knew whether he was yet of breath, and thus I sat opposite him with an intent to greet.

   “Hello,” said I.

   And he replied with silence.

   I repeated my greeting, guided by the consideration that the man may not have heard. Yet, after doing so five times I began to think he perhaps could not hear at all.

   But a sudden, “You will not stop, will you?” spoken in a deepened voice, persuaded me of the contrary.

   “I did not wish to disturb you, sir-”

   “It certainly appeared you didn't...” he muttered with sight yet fixed upon the pieces; “What would you wish of me?”

   “May I ask; what are these pieces there - upon the checkerboard?”

   “Chessboard.”

   “Oh,” I said pondering; “Chessboards. Could you tell me, what is the purpose of these chessboards? Do they happen to move similarly to checker pieces?

   “No-”

   “Well, how do they move then?”

   “They are not chessboards. They are chess pieces. And this,” he pointed at the checkerboard;” is a chessboard, not a checkerboard. One may play a game of chess with this equipment.”

   “Are you certain? It appears quite like a checkerboard.”

   “It is not a checkerboard.”

   “How do you know?”

   “For king's sake...” he sighed; “Believe me, I know.”

   I must confess, I was not convinced he knew what he was speaking of. It clearly was a checkerboard. But it was not my intent to criticize a man unknown for knowledge unknown. Rather, I was greatly interested in what a game he could play on a checkerboard with pieces of chess (since, in this, I dared to believe him).

   “So, howsoever do these chess pieces function?”

   “That is of a significant difficulty to explain;” he spoke, his eyes yet still unmoved; “Especially now when I'm quite preoccupied by playing with them.”

   “Playing? Why are you not moving them then?” I asked.

   “Well, because this game requires the finest amount of thought. I shan't move a piece before being absolutely certain of moving it correctly.”

   “How do you know whether you'll move it correctly before moving it?”

   “Why, by thinking of course! What would you deem me doing?”

   “Playing chess,” I muttered quietly.

   The man appeared to not have heard the mutterance and thus took to a great silence.

   “So, may I assist you in any manner?” I questioned.

   “No, I believen't it so.”

   “Come on,” I grew ever eager; “Please explain howsoever one ought to move them, and I shall tell you whither!”

   “No.”

   “Please.”

   “NO,” he stated firmly, banishing my hope.

   “Perhaps when you're done playing, you might find some time to-”

   “I never am done playing.”

   “Oh,” I said, realizing he still has not even glanced at me; “Why do you never stop?”

   “I can't. I must play.”

   “Why must you?”

   “Trust me. I simply must.”

   “What would happen should you cease awhile?” I asked.

   “I do not know. I never wished to stop. This is the sole and only thing that I find joy in. It is only of late that it has become sore troubling.”

   “Why is that?”

   “Well, I cannot enjoy the game as I could in my younger years. It has changed so much since then...”

   “How has it changed?”

   “I have grown more and more proficient by the year, and now I do not know what to play in order to play in accordance with my wish.”

   “Your wish?”

   “Yes, I must play as precisely as I may, otherwise the game is of no point.”

   “And of what point would the game be should you be able to play as you wish?

   “Why, it would be most pleasurable. That is the entire point of playing chess... That is the entire point of doing whatsoever.”

   “What if you but played this?” questioned I, moving a piece at random.

   The man remained in silent thought.

   “What now?”

   He sat without a word, his eyes visibly bewildered.

While his mouth would open,

naught and naught was spoken.

His mien as if frozen

for the move I've chosen.

And though I was asking plainly,

he but sat and sat unwavering,

contemplating, contemplating

never ceasing,

never waking.