Checkmate

"And that's pretty much it!" Alfred guffawed with delight. "I used defective vaccinations to wipe out half of America and Europe! Checkmate!"

Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Old knucklehead. Your memory deteriorates as you get older. You don't remember, Alfred? That you won four years ago and have been using the same vaccination alternative ever since? This time, old chap, how about attempting to be more imaginative? After all, you are Skull and Bones..."

Whether or not he was a member of the almost ancient Skull and Bones, Alfred was, and most likely had been, in the initial stages of his fading memory loss. It's not quite dementia, but it'll be there soon enough. During their disastrous game of chess, the previously keen-minded (and most members were) had even failed to ask Pete whether he'd like tea. Alfred, on the other hand, never forgets. But he'd only been ninety-three for two months. Pete was not going to remind him that he had further new-age ideas for their family's future. Humanities' future. He had begun to feel it was better to be late than never, even at the age of ninety. When one of the last original members of the eight died of pneumonia at the age of 87, with relatives by his bedside, this abrupt new awareness began burrowing its claws into his soul.

Another feisty, strong-willed member of the original 1937 Yale secret alumni—-there are no women admitted in the secretive club—-he'd had an incredible run with the group. Still, it started to make Peter question what legacy he'd left his own family with, OTHER than with the group. That wasn't a lot. They all talked and attributed to the outside world as one, using all means at their disposal to bring their ambitions of world dominance to fruition. A single-world government, then, hopefully, a single Orwellian world controlled and owned by them, with just a few million people remaining as good-doers for the hidden side. Do you think it's a little bit clownish? It was—-at least to Peter right now. This anti-constitutional gang has plotted and done everything they can to capture that one last plan for hundreds of years... and has consistently failed. Something wonderfully good always got in the way—-and this time, it was Peter's awareness, as he began to consider the world's destiny for his own family. It SHOULD have been better.

"You claim it was four years ago?" Alfred sat back, his fingers clasped together over his chest in intense meditation. "Well, it's been a while since our last meeting here in Switzerland; I can't even remember what the previous chess game produced—-"

"—-I assure you, Alfred, nothing much," Peter grumbled angrily. "You'd won four out of six games and decided on the vaccination extermination, but there are still over a billion humans sniffing about the world." He took a step nearer and peered at Alfred. "OLD BOY, NOTHING has worked. NOTHING! Nothing had happened since this so-called hidden brotherhood of powerful and smart individuals began its insane goal of a single globe dominated by a few wealthy families. Alfred, the plan has always been railroaded by providential circumstances since its inception. Only TWO of these secret societies' members remain in the world today! I'm talking about you, old buddy, and I'm talking about me. We ARE, after all, elderly. Don't you want your OWN family to have a happier, safer, and more successful future? Without all of the current conflicts and strife, and a planet they can call their own? IS IT STILL GOING ON BECAUSE OF US, AFTER ALL THIS TIME?"

He leaned back and thought for a moment before saying, "When I consider the world my grandkids may have to live in and all the horrible dangers they will face daily, Alfred, I wish I had never been a part of it. It makes me wish I had never been born in the first place. All of our members were born and raised amid this craziness, which was brought about by the failures of our forefathers' irrational visions for the future. Alfred, we must look forward to a better future! WE ARE NOT GOING TO BE THE WINNERS! We're practically worm food; that's our fate, and it's time we accepted it. Since the Reagan administration, no new Skull and Bones members have been sworn in. And he did it in the middle of a traffic bottleneck on the San Francisco Bridge!"

Alfred sighed deeply, slowly nodding and absorbing it all in. His hands began to tremble after a few minutes. He took a deep breath and said, "You know, Pete." "I can't even remember the names of my children, let alone my grandchildren's? I just can't do it, no matter how many times I'm reminded. And, indeed, Peter. I DO wish for them to have a better future. "As a tear-bead rolled under his heavy spectacles and down his thin bony cheek, he gulped hard. Peter stood still, hoping Alfred would sink into his new vision of the world's future—-for the sake of their OWN families—-and perhaps even assist him in putting it into action.

He eventually sighed and said, "Peter." "You've always been a terrific friend to me, and we all appreciate that. I simply wanted to let you know that you're a great old man. Please," Alfred drew something from his jeans pocket and stuck out his fist palm down before Peter could respond to the strange final statement.

"Would you like one?.”

With a shake of his head, Peter said, "No." "I've never been a big fan of sweets or breath mints, dude; I'm more of an a—-" Alfred leaned back in his chair and put the contents of his fist into his mouth before he could finish.

"I'm a Mentos guy myself," Peter said. Peter waved him aside with his hand, which was now resting comfortably on his lap.

"Old chap, close your eyes for a while," Alfred said. Peter was the one who did it. A startling gargling exploded in the inaudible room after less than a minute, and he couldn't control himself anymore. He blinked open his eyes. As soon as he saw Alfred, his confusion vanished. Alfred's eyes were still open but frozen, staring up. His open twisted lips spat white froth down his cheek, slathering his $5,000 three-piece Armani suit's chest and shoulder.

Cyanide... Peter paused for a while before nodding, recognizing what had just happened. He slowly stood up, buttoned his grey blazer, and offered a courteous farewell nod to his long-time buddy.

"Checkmate, old guy," he sighed and walked out of the room.