Black/White

"Checkmate," Death chuckled, moving his pawn. His black hood hid his expression.
Four hundred billion years, and there they were, the two of them: Life and death... Black and White.
"How does it feel," Life said, sipping his tea.
"How does what feel?
"To win?"
Death didn't know how to answer. He looked around his side of the board, dumbfounded at the blank feeling that rolled around inside of his chest. Centuries past in blinks of an eye as each uncaring thought thunder through his skull.
"It feels like winning--" He replied finally. "And that's how it will always be, Life. You put up a good fight, but I always take home the trophy."
"This is true," Life sighed, reclaiming his pieces from the other side of the board. "But I'd take losing with a purpose over winning without one, any day of the week."
"What do you mean?" Death asked.
"I go through my game, putting everything I've got into what i do," said Life. "Therefore, I know I did...