A newborn baby cried as the cold and brightness of the world first hit her. A new game has begun.
Life advanced his first pawn. White always goes first.
Then Death lazily put forth his piece.
The baby survived the usual childhood diseases. It skirted SIDS, suffocation, choking, and all of the traps Death laid for it.
Then as it grew up, some dangers ceased. Others increased. It began to move around (and therefore falling down), put unknown substances in its mouth, coo happily up at strangers.
Everytime she had a dangerously high fever, everytime she crashed through something and broke her leg, Death took one of the white pawns.
"I still have many left," Life said.
"I'm not in a hurry," Death replied.
She grew up to be a teenager. She experimented with drugs, alcohol, and sex. Death took away a castle and a knight.
"Check," Death said, as she crashed her car at an intersection, horns blaring, ambulance lights dancing off the grey asphalt.
But Life, through a clever maneuver, escaped the threat.
Death was unfazed.
She grew up to be an adult, more careful. It seemed like Life was doing well. She married, and had a child of her own. Childbirth cost her a bishop, but that was the only casualty for a while. A while that was only a few seconds to the two immortal players.
Then, when she was fifty-three, she found out she had cancer. The white queen struggled valiantly to protect her king, and was sacrificed in the process. But the king escaped.
Death raised his eyebrows, impressed. But he was not worried. He knew he was going to win.
Finally, at seventy, she had cardiac arrest.