chess piece, fiction, flash fiction, Friday, letter, regret, short story, suicide, writer
Cole rocked back and forth in his chair on the porch, as he did many evenings since he retired. His hair, that had once echoed his name, had turned silver, and the hands that crafted the seat had grown wrinkled and shaken. Never again could he use them to create such fine work.
His home sat on acres, where he could sit undisturbed as long as he liked. Accompanying him on the porch was a table. Atop it sat the small fuel lamp that softly illuminated the area, a pad of paper and pen, and a chess board. Continue reading