Flash Fiction: My Game

You were never a player. The game was always mine.

I chose my pieces and my moves as I saw fit. Every piece was placed only to dance to my tunes. Whether one found glory, or one found death, was all up to me. And in the very end, none of your moves made any difference. You made those moves because I allowed you to. Your will, your dreams, your aspirations, none of those ever mattered.

You were always a pawn.

It was always my game…

Word Count: 86


Friday Fictioneers 2nd Nov, 2018


  1. I also enjoyed the voice asserting control in this piece. The puppeteer pulling the strings. Either a leader with absolute power, or a megalomaniac, trying to convince us, and meanwhile,deluding himself,as to the extent of his power. Either way, troubling!

    Liked by 1 person

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