Playing For Keeps Meaning Novels & Stories

"I'm tired of it. Maybe I should have just let the pieces fall." "No," I countered, looking at him seriously. "The point of Checkers is to make it to the other side and become a King. You can't do that if you stay on the defensive your whole life." The clinic room, with its sterile white walls and quiet hum of machinery, became our temporary sanctuary, a place where the rules of the corporate world didn't apply. We played, we laughed over his terrible attempts at bluffing during a round of Crazy Eights, and we slowly, piece by piece, put our broken emotional connection back together.

He changes the single-mode to a duel. "Is that why you called me?" I asked and paused the game. "Of course." He said and resumed the game. "That's not the way to call someone for PLAYIN A GAME." I said stressing on words 'playing a game' and paused again. "Doesn't matter. Now play please." He resumed again.

"Where’s Ethan?" "Uncle Ethan is with... a friend." "Playing?" "Yeah," I said, a bitter edge slipping into my words. "They’re playing a very high-stakes game of keep-away." "With a toy?" "With something our friend treated like a toy for a long time," I whispered. "And with something else. Something much more precious."

She started crying all over again. “Too small?” Paul asked, breaking her thoughts and bringing her back to the present. She felt like presenting him with an amount that would make his company go bankrupt, billions of dollars, but then she refused to play his game. She refused to gamble with her child. She was going to keep the child, no matter what. She swallowed and straightened her posture, not wanting to show how nervous she was. She cleared her throat and gazed at him straight. “I do not want your money Paul, you can keep it and do whatever you wish with it. However, I am keeping this baby and I do not intend to quit my job too” she said heaving heavily and turning to leave.

, he asked trying to conceal the huskiness in his hoarse displeased voice. Cynthia shook her head," you're a player, you shouldn't think about those things". On hearing her words, Jeffery, again, for the first time, didn't feel the usual pride he felt when someone refered to him as a player. For Cynthia it was like since he was a player, then she could play along. He gritted his teeth, this woman had never given him face. Cynthia watched his angry face and felt satisfaction welling up, "if you're that mad I can go back". She said,

"you know the rules young man. You loose, you get a finger cut off.. You still in? " He growled. "Let's play old man. I've got other things to take care of other than you. " The guy replied with a scowl on his face. A man walked up to them shortly with card and placed them on the table. What sort of a game was this? 'you loose, you get a finger cut off. ' I could clearly remember his words. Who in his right senses will agree to play a game over his own health. Cut a f*cking finger off.

I tried to clear his anxiety “We can’t wait any longer” A sucklen idea occurred to me, we played the game of hops in the village square which we normally called “opompo” in my dialect. A game where the other person carries his game partner on the back and finished a race. “I will carry you” I said. He climbed on my back, holding unto me, his weight on me tired my muscles, I made the first movement which seemed like I was carrying the weight of the world, I moaned then covered my expression.

I just believed we would walk back to our dorm room in quietness, since he had been dead quiet since morning. “Thinking about how to win the competition,” I confessed. “Everyone has a reason or another to win, most people do it because they want to get to college on a fully funded scholarship—but you…” I trailed off, my face heating up again. “You never said anything about the reason you are playing.” I suddenly noticed, my eyebrows furrowing. “You just quietly listen while the rest of us are yapping.” “I play because I enjoy the game.” He said with the same straight face. “It’s not boring.”

It was Mark from the debate team. "Mark," I said, gripping his hand for a bro-hug. "How’s the prep going for nationals? You guys ready to crush State?" "We’re getting there, man. Hey, good to see you out. Heard about... you know." He made a vague gesture with his beer cup that encompassed everything from my breakup to my general existence. "Old news, Mark," I said, keeping my voice light. "I’m good. Never better." I patted his shoulder and kept moving. That was the trick. Never stop moving. If you stopped, people asked questions. If you kept moving, you were just a busy, important guy making the rounds.

The corners of his eyes were red, as though he was holding his emotions back by sheer force of will. Janet hurried forward. "Wren, you've been with him for ten years. You know he never means what he says. There's no way he'd actually let you walk out of here barefoot. He's just trying to get you to stay." The words had barely left her mouth when Declan picked up the shoes and tossed them into the fireplace. "You wore those shoes for six years. Now, you're giving them back to me? I don't want them. They're filthy."