The greenery and sunlight brought calm to the park; it was the very thing that gave the boy joy and peace. As he looked at the blessed scenery, he could see all the trees, the leaves that clothed the grass, the wind and its unpredictable flow, the sound of whistling it brought, and the birds flying low over the lake at the center of the park. He saw a few people, young and old, walking and enjoying the calmness. Some birds and dogs walked alongside them. Barking and birdsong filled the air.
Beside him was a girl, Aurora. Like him, she had no father or mother—she was alone in the world.
She told him her story. "My father was of blood and ice. There was a cut he gave me. It was red and dark, cold as ice. He left like melting ice. I could only see him for so long before he vanished, never to be seen again.
"My mother left me with my grandmother. She told me, as I watched her leave, those words of encouragement before my eyes…"
'I love you.'
'Don't be sad.'
'I will be with you.'
'Promise I will be back in seven days.'
The first day with my grandmother was alright. We played, sang, and talked about movies and stories of heroes. The second day was a little less fun. We just sang, talked, and watched shows on TV. On the third day, I was bored and sat on the porch looking at the land—nothing but grass, trees, and wheat.
My grandmother lived alone on the farmland until I arrived.
On the fourth day, she taught me how to plant. It was fun but tiring. She talked about the goodness of nature and why we should give back. She said, "Whatever you take from nature, you must remember to give it back."
On the fifth day, I was finally able to drink soda again. That sweet, bubbly taste felt like returning to the world I once lived in at home.
The sixth day was just conversation about how excited I was to be with my mother and the adventures I had with my grandmother. Maybe I didn't notice, but my grandmother never spoke much that day; she only nodded and gave me lots of food and more soda. She hated soda but gave more than ever that day.
The seventh day was slow. I packed all my stuff and waited. I wanted nothing else but to see my mother. I waited until I fell asleep, only to realize it was the next day. On the ninth day, I could not cry anymore. My body felt empty, shallow, and dry. All I wanted was to see my mom and friends back where I lived.
But nothing changed. For more than four years of my life, since I was six, I lived with my grandmother.
One thousand four hundred sixty days. That was the day my grandmother died. I still remember her gray hair, wrinkled face, and open green eyes, which brought light to the tears she had before she died.
The next few days passed quickly. But my body could not handle it. I lived from one foster house to another. Before I knew it, I was with a new family, but less than five days later, they did not want me anymore. I was dropped off from house to house, with close relatives.
I left it all behind, looking to find my own way. I still remember living in the streets, eating scraps and trash.
Then I met him. He wore black goggles, with gray hair that reached his shoulders, a red jacket, dark green pants, and slippers. He carried a walking stick. On his back were trash bags strapped with a backpack.
He smiled at me. As I lay flat on the ground, he asked,
"Little girl, do you want to live? If you do, get up and walk."
I was so hungry, all I could do was move my hand toward him, asking for help.
But the man smiled, turned his back, and said,
"If you want to live, then you must live for only yourself. To do that, no one can help you."
So I crawled, following him.
Reaching him took all my strength. When I reached him, I saw him sitting and eating on a couch. In front of him was a bonfire formed from a metal bucket. On top of it, wood burned, lighting up the slums.
The moment he saw me, he threw some roasted meat on the ground.
I ate like a dog, instincts taking over like a predator consuming its prey.
The old man looked at me with disgust. He said,
"Get up. Are you an animal or a dying dog ready to die?"
So I did, sitting next to him on the couch. Truly, hunger spoke louder than words.
We ate the meat. All of it. Before I knew it, I felt refreshed and calm. Then he started asking questions.
"What's your name?"
For some reason, I lied.
"My name is Star."
"Star… okay, well, weird name."
"Why are you out here?"
"I have no one."
I told him the truth.
"Do you want to live?"
I lied.
"Yes."
…
"Come over," he said, waking me after the meal.
He was holding tattered blue jeans and a long black hoodie.
Finally, something warm. I had only worn a white shirt and black leggings.
I put both on while still wearing my clothes.
I said, "Thank you."
He said nothing back.
Soon, he walked away. I followed him.
I asked question after question.
His name was Vangogh.
Out of all my questions, he only really answered two.
My last question was, "What kind of meat did we eat? It was so good."
Turning his head and smiling, he said, "Dog."
My face paled. I felt like I was about to barf.
…
Walking down the street, the man stopped. I could finally see what he could, for I was right beside him.
I saw many who sat on stools playing chess at the edge of the park.
Rows of people, young and old, rich and poor. Somehow it was silent. Some watched; some walked past, observing for a second or two.
Then he moved, and I followed him. He found a spot at the back of the area, waiting for an opponent.
More than ten minutes passed before someone challenged him.
It was my first time watching a game of chess. I had no clue how it worked. The only thing I understood was that it took him less than two minutes to defeat his first opponent.
After each game, he got a dollar. That was the only thing that intrigued me.
Game after game he won. By the end, he had made over thirty dollars.
It lasted three to four hours. I kept following him after he stopped.
Less than a minute after we started walking, he began talking.
"So, where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"Can you stop following me?"
"I'm not following you."
"Yes, you are," he said.
"No, I'm not," I said.
"Ok… ok."
"Well, whatever," he said, walking a little faster.
"Can you teach me?" I asked, walking faster to be beside him.
"No."
"Please."
"No."
For three days straight, I followed him in the same pattern: eat, follow, chess, rest, over and over.
After each chess game, I asked the same question, "Can you teach me, please?" He always said, "Read."
Finally, after his first loss, he got a little mad.
He said, "Would you stop following me if I taught you?"
"Yes, I would."
The first thing he did was give me three books. The first was about chess basics, the second about history, and the third about famous chess masters and their tactics.
It was not hard to understand. I spent most of those years with my grandmother, homeschooled. She taught me to read, write, and speak properly. The books he gave me were ten times harder in vocabulary.
Even so, it took a while to fully master the basics. After a week of nonstop reading and eating the worst possible food, I began challenging others.
First, I challenged Vangogh. I was defeated in less than a minute. After ten games, I knew it was pointless to go up against him. So I began scouting the park, looking for people I thought I could defeat. It took a month of nonstop practice. Sometimes I went to the library, sometimes I asked people questions.
I always asked Vangogh to teach, but he always said:
"Read. Read."
Nothing more, nothing less. After another three weeks, I began to see patterns. My mind had begun mastering them. Chess became a reflection of life. I understood why I was losing and winning.
It was not just a game—it was life. Chess mirrored the harshness of choices and sacrifices.
After four months of sleeping and eating in the slums with Vangogh, I finally decided to challenge him.
As I sat, he smiled at me, as if he had been waiting.
For the first time, he complimented me. "You have finally mastered your mind. I am impressed."
"Are you ready?" I said.
"Yes."
The game started.
After thirty-five seconds of his fifteenth move, he began talking.
"So, what is your name?" He looked down at the chessboard with a straight face.
I didn't understand. My name was Star, so why ask? I told him anyway.
"Come on, when you first told me, it was laughable… especially how you said it…"
Yes, my name, I thought. What was it? I forgot. All those days, my only thought was to survive, to live a new life, to be free. All those days, I forgot who I was.
"My name is… Aurora," I realized. I had taken my eyes off the game. No—I thought to myself, keep calm and stay focused.
"So… Aurora, why are you out here?" he asked.
I didn't notice until the match, but his goggles were off. His eyes were gray and black, his skin old, but most of all, that smile.
The questions echoed in my mind.
"Why was I here? Was it for the money? No, money barely fed me. Was it for fun? No. Was it to be free? No, or… is it?"
My answer was: "I want to be free, but I can't find my freedom in anything."
"You want to be free? Sorry to tell you, nothing in this world is free. We are held by what we see as freedom. Look at this game. At the end of the day, it was made for those who conquer the world, for kings and queens of this world. Now we use it for fun—but there is no fun. We are trapped by necessities and needs. With that, money and pain come into play like dice rolling. We have no choice. We can control it as much as we can, but it will only drag us down."
Every word hit Aurora's mind like a bang. She tried to stay focused.
'Stay focused, stay focused…' she repeated.
"So, Aurora, do you want to live?" he asked, not looking at her, only at the chessboard. His right hand scratched his chin.
"…Yes," she said, moving her queen away from a rook, her eyes fixed on the chessboard.
"The first time I saw you, your face was dark and grim. Your eyes were dark green as you lay on the ground. I wondered. Days went by—you didn't get up for more than three days straight. You did not move, only laying on the ground in the slums, waiting to die."
He paused, then continued, making a move. "So, do you have a change of heart? What made you change?"
Seconds passed. Aurora spoke, "I thought life had no meaning, no purpose. Why live when we know we will die? Why love something that will die? Death is the nature of life, and we forget it. I thought, why should I live? Who will remember me? Then I saw you. Your smile the first time I met you made me remember what my grandmother said:
'The very nature of your existence is connected to all things. We are one and the same. Our love does not vanish, for the laws of the universe state that energy doesn't die or fade. Love is everlasting—it is invisible energy. Our death gives life to the new. We breed and make life, and in that, our love continues and opens us to the kindness of the universe. We must not lose hope or faith in one another. We must be happy, joyful, and feel loved. We are all the same: lost and empty. Being alone comes from choosing to be alone. Seek the unknown, taste the fruits of this world. Do not stop moving, or you will fall.'"