Thirty Seconds in Between

The pawn asks God,
What do I do?

God says,
DO WHAT PAWNS DO.

The pawn retorts,
Yeah but do I advance or do I hold. Do I marinate myself in terriyaki sauce and wait for the Queen to get to me or what? Coz pawns do that too, man.

God says,
THE ANSWER IS WITHIN YOURSELF. YOU KNOW WHAT MUST BE DONE.

The pawn dismisses all foreplay,
Come on Big Guy. I'm looking for divine inspiration here. I really hate this one way street. I need to get to the end of the line so I can fucking do something with my life instead of just making like some goddamn runway model but there's a whole bunch of them midnight blackness darkness dudes who could write a '365-Ways-to-Eat-a-Midget' book over there. (Sorry bout the using-your-name-in-vain-thing.) I'm just a pawn, man. I just need some direction.

God says,
THERE IS NO WORTH IN BEING SHOWN THE WAY, NO PRIDE IN KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT THOUGHT, NO REWARD IN BEING GIVEN THE ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE.

The pawn slumps to the floor and lights a cigarette, in resignation to the confines of his black square tile.
He whispers under his breath,
Fuck. I hate motivational bullcrap. Thought I left it behind in the friggin' army.

Is it that hard to make sense of anything?

God says,
SUCH IS LIFE.