I live, currently, in a desert in China. To say that we are land-locked here would be an understatement. I am told that we are at the place in the world farthest in any direction from sea. And it is winter. The temperature outside remains steadily at around twenty below, the ground frozen solid, and what little water there is to be found is turned to ice. There are a small few of us here, and our accommodation is in what is commonly referred to as 'the cells'. A simple affair of stark, heatless concrete and brick; the windows barred, the lights harsh and un-shaded, yet still somehow cold. We have time off, for which we are grateful, but now the days begin to drag. Some of us had made plans to escape to far-flung reaches, but the travel plans had failed. We were trapped. We trod the too familiar paths of the small town a half-hour's travel away, and killed the days in pool clubs, the evenings and nights in low-down bars, some underground in fetid car parks; but they were cheap and unpredictable. Eventually, even this ceased to satisfy our simplistic desires. Then came the blizzards. These were a surprise in an area with so little precipitation, but they were harsh. The snow was driven hard into the faces of those who braved the outside, icicles from the thin, scraggly trees occasionally flung off in a violent burst to shatter like shrapnel. We retreated into our lair. The days and nights began to merge as the storms raged, the time becoming a single entity, fleeting and yet eternal. Conversations dried up as even the best of stories became tired and old. The sporadic access to the Internet ceased to yield anything fresh or sufficient to retain what little interest we had left. And then we discovered Diplomacy. The idea seemed simple enough, the equipment easy and scroungeable. We decided that we would try this idea. We would all play our first game of Diplomacy. Perhaps this was a mistake. It was out of the question that we would be able to find an actual Diplomacy board, or, indeed, seven players, so we did as we could. The game was constructed using a cardboard box, a printed map of Europe and some pins. We found variant rules, which would allow us to play with fewer players than usual. We made ready the abode. The windows and doors had been all but blocked up to keep out the determined wind which shrieked through the myriad of cracks then howled along empty corridors to swirl round every room, but this also shut out most all of what little light there was outside. We set ourselves up in a single room to try and retain heat, no longer aware of what time of what day it was. The game began. There was a nervous excitement about the players, as we took our positions, each greedily eyeing up sections of the map. The game began in a friendly enough manner, each trying to get their share of the neutral countries, quick bursts of wit or jocular remarks punctuating the game. Time passed and the borders closed in on one another. The atmosphere tensed, like a calm before the storm. Conversations became more whispered, more earnest. After I know not how long, we called a break just long enough to break out the coffee and the last of our alcohol supplies; a harsh, local brew of over fifty-percent, and a feeling like rusted blades being dragged down the inside of your throat. I am not sure that this was a beneficial decision. The conversations had by now begun to take place in other rooms behind closed doors. Then came the first stab. The reaction of the aggrieved was a cold indifference, which the more keen-eyed and less sadistically triumphant of us could see simmering into a chilling anger behind eyes now devoid of emotion. At the end of the phase they went to an adjoining room to talk. Only one of them returned. The silence in the room was palpable, strained; until we heard the flush of a toilet. The age of conquest continued, alliances shifting, sometimes with a blurring intensity and startling speed as revenge became more important than success. Or perhaps revenge did become success, I am not quite sure. Eventually, there were three. The battles raged across the torn and ravaged face of Europe, those who had been eliminated whispering soft worries into the ears of those who remained, sowing seeds of doubt and fear. Finally, the smoke cleared and it was over. A hush descended on the room as we surveyed the final remnants of the map, the victor allowing a throaty chuckle to escape which echoed strangely in the bareness of the room. We tried small talk for a while, eventually dispersing into the solitude of our respective rooms. The lock of every door could be heard clicking shut. Tom Carr-Griffin (tbreak@hotmail.co.uk) If you wish to e-mail feedback on this article to the author, and clicking on the envelope above does not work for you, feel free to use the "Dear DP..." mail interface.