Chess

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Mr. Grin nor Darrius Sayle (though I wish I did. Oh ho ho!). They belong to Anthony Horowitz, the creator of the Alex Rider series, and to the people who created Stormbreaker, the film.

It's like chess. One wrong move and it's over.

I made one wrong move and it was over.

I never missed. My accuracy was off that miserable night. I still remember. There was the glory. There was the pain. I shouldn't have gazed directly at the audience, but I did. I admit it was careless of me. Mother was there. She waved. I grinned. That was it. That mere distraction threw me off. I looked at the spectators. My calculations became worthless, because of my careless actions.

The spinning blade edged closer and closer... and closer. I tried to catch it. If I used my hands, they would be severed. After all, my finale did call for me to catch the dagger between my teeth. As I said before, I made a futile attempt to grab it. The blood spewed. The audience screamed in pure terror. The noise was both terrifying and glorious. Then, came the pain. Not only was there humility, but this physical pain as well. The knife ripped through my mouth before cascading to the ground like a fallen leaf.

There was so much blood... It was everywhere. It soaked the ground and my hands. I tried to scream out, but that brought even more of the crimson necessity. My beloved blades brought my demise. It was unimaginable. I'm bitter to say that it was ironic. The thing I loved was the thing that almost killed me. Is there not a saying that goes, "If you love it, set it free?" Yet, here I stand. I have not given up on knife throwing. I'm still awake. This reality has become a nightmare to me.

All of my moves in this game of chess became worthless. Do you know howthat makes me feel? All those years of practice were carelessly thrown into the fire. It hurt more than you can ever fathom.

I also remember waking up. I stared at the looking glass... and stared... and stared... and screamed. Or so I tried to scream. I tried to shout. I couldn't. It hurt too much. My lips were curved into a permanent fixture. The stitches... It was a Glasgow. It was disgusting. My face had become a grin. I had become a mockery. A joke. A freak. Oh no, it doesn't bother me now. But just thinking about it...

It was horrible.

But I adapted, you see. I changed. I still practiced with my knives. Whenever I got the chance (which was often), I practiced. I avoided human contact for the most part. I didn't want to become a mockery more so than I already was. The papers with plastered with my moronic, "freak" incident.

One day, he happened to notice me. Darius Sayle. I don't know how and I don't know why, but he did.

He smiled and spoke nonchalantly, "Would you like to work for me... ?"

Oh, he was funny.

I nodded. I was in need of a job. I had perfected my skills. My grin grew. It wasn't madness that flashed in my eyes, oh no. It was excitement. What else was left for me?

I became Mr. Sayle's right hand man. I do my best to serve him. I am his butler. I am an assassin. My skills have become flawless. Never again have I made a careless mistake. A constant reminder flashes before me when I muster the courage to glance into the mirror. The game of chess belongs to me alone.

I grin, because it is all I can do.