Are ya winning, son?

“Are you winning son?”

“No dad, I’m playing chess. Any improvement in skill simply ensures that I am matched with stronger opponents. I will never be so good that there is not someone better, and as such my win ratio will always be less than 50%.
I guess I’m losing, dad. I’m grinding my way towards my natural limit, when I can no longer improve, and even that small pleasure is gone. I can feel that ceiling approach, just like I am aware of the inevitability of my own death. Both approach on thundering hoves. Will I be free, then? Once the end is here and nothing has meaning? Will I be free then, or is He waiting on the other side?
Does the devil play chess, Dad? I’m scared.”