About the Work
Two ancient entities play chess for forty days. The winner claims a ruby ring and the loser’s life. The disaster arrives afterward, during the victory feast, when the winner’s children find what the winning left behind. The ring gets its color back.
Story
Creation, it rests upon the hand of my forefathers killer, but one gem of a set of exquisite jewelry. Its color is blood red, its angles sharp and exacting. In the crystals body, the color is murky, undefined; within the set confines of its body, the obscure essence retains an unrecognizable form. But it, even in its lack of clarity and establishment, has been captured well. Excavated from the ground, done under extensive labor, breaking the backs of millions passed, it had been curated in such a manner to preserve its inherent earthly glimmer. Such desire I felt for its possession, this unwavering need has drawn heavily upon my heaving breast. Nothing but angst and direct pain has seeped into my troubled mind ever since its reception, but I still desire it; I prize its worth over my own lives, or even my childrens. When the wearer, who had sat so regally, perishes, I should claim it and declare my inheritance. No one would remain then to stop me from doing so; there was no obligation outside of the present ownership. But I, as I lay here, still, long after my separation, gazing at his bejeweled fingers, I find myself losing patience; the need has become oh so wanting.
If I have won severance over you, in this here game, you will give me your ring.
What have you to offer in exchange? This piece of mine is no small trifle. Men far greater and higher than you have sought my life for it.