Checkmate

A hundred trillion years of life, a hundred billion games played, and in all of that time and amusement, chess remains my favourite. A game older than even myself. A game that has survived to the end of the universe with me. Even with no-one left to play.

I have left it set up, in vain hope that one may arrive to play one last game. Here, in this bubble, watching the last star fade away. All my life I have lived in such a bubble, and in such a bubble it shall finally end. For even immortality is fleeting. While entropy is forever.

I look at the pieces arrayed before me – lines of pawns, willing to die. Death, like those who inhabited this universe, comes to them so easily. A pawn may sometimes move diagonally instead of proceeding blindly across the board. Very rarely, a pawn may rise to become a queen. Yet the queen herself is vulnerable as well.

The other pieces offer no solace. Castle after castle fell, as the universe collapsed, taking the works of Gods and Men with them. No fortress could resist the march of time. No brave knight to stand against the dark, the words of bishops but hollow words. And queens, the mightiest of us all. We who travelled through time and space, across the board of the universe. But queens can fall. Many will sacrifice all to take the opponent's queen. And in the universe, the game was rigged. Even queens had to fall.

I am such a queen, and have come to the end of the game. Here, in the dying light of a dead universe. In entropy's silence, I hear Death laughing at me. In the mist of decay, I hear the cries of those long gone. Here, on the ruins of Galifrey, I dare hope that the king may arrive. To the ignorant, the weakest piece on the board. And yet, the key to everything. The one that even a queen must bow down to. The one by which the game begins. And whose entrapment the game ends. And yet, never dying. The king never loses his life. Even now, I hope for such royalty to arrive. To hear the sound of the king's chariot, before the clock of the universe strikes twelve.

A fool's hope, perhaps, for the hour is late – 11:53. Seven minutes until the end of everything. Six minutes left to play. I glance at the board – could I beat an opponent in seven minutes? Now, full of life, yet six minutes away from death? Could I win in time?

Unlikely, as the clock strikes 11:54. Six minutes away from final midnight. I once more look at the star – the last player left, as the game nears its end. My last companion. Fated to fade, as am I. A bit player who frets its hour upon the stage. And then is seen no more. All but a tale, full of light and fury, signifying nothing. Such is the way of the universe.

11:55. No escape. I am alone. I am the king. Bereft of pawns, no longer a queen, deprived of any allies. And the universe has, at last, declared checkmate.

Well played, my friend.

Well played.