When I was a little boy, about the age of 5, my grandparents told me a story that I loved. It was called, "A Game of Chess." I wanted to tell me it all the time, and I thought you'd be interested.
Apparently, my granparents had made it up because when I looked it up, there were no results. That is why I decided to tell you about A Game of Chess.
Here it is, but the way my grandparents told me it.
In Western times- the way the outlaws settled things was a simple game of chess. Whoever lost was shot in the head, and their body was disimbered - and burried outside the courtyard.
That was when, Pete Wester - a dastardly outlaw came into the small town. He played the sheriff in a game of chess. They had agreed that whoever lost had to hand over the town, and whoever won kept his town. They started playing, and the outlaw made a great move.
The sheriff didn't know what move to make. He then did a horrible move - and lost. The outlaw won and got the town, and the sheriff was shot.
The point of the story is that do not accept any challenge. That's what I think. The reason is because, the sheriff was foolish enough to accept the challenge.
What I do not like about the story is that the good guy lost, and I think that teaches something else. Something way, way more graphic then is ment to be thought. Surely, when I asked my granparents what the moral of the story was, my grandpa said:
"Well, t-the point of that story is to not be so foolish. If you are, then you'll accept any challenge. The scary part is that this happened when I was a kid, and that sheriff... he was my dad,"
I was shocked about how my dad's dad had gotten shot. I cringed when I know looked it up. The following night, I got in bed.
I then had a horrible vision. It was my dad, he was about 6. He was staring at his dad - who was bleeding in the head. My dad was screaming and crying, and his mother came to comfort him.
That outlaw came, and shot his mom. The poor baby boy was then left on the ground, crying. He kept on crying until the outlaw points a gun at him, and I wake up.
I was sweating and crying, and before I knew it, I had asked my dad about the same thing.
"Listen, son." my dad had said. "My gun wound is right on my arm, right here."