Please your crticisms and comments are welcome.

"Chidera! Stop! I would beat you now. C'mon sit in one place!'
how was he supposed to maintain eye contact with the road and not get a heart attack from his wife's constant alarm.
"Honey, try and talk to the girl. Not shout, can't you I'm driving. If you shout I would think something serious has happened".
"With this girl? Chidera? You would never understand until you become a woman" his wife hissed back at him.
"And I don't intend becoming one, in this life or the next" he fired back.
"Then don't complain when I shout on her. Na me wey wear the shoe, na me know wey e dey pain."
"But you are running down yourself. Sometimes you just overlook her. She is just playing the pranks of kids he age." Chidera was now attempting to climb the passenger seat. She was too energetic for a 6-month old. Her mum held her with one hand and tried to fit her gele with the other. Felix was watching through the inner mirror, it was true, he would never understand because he was now a woman. He made a turn to his right, the street were the church was located. He could hear the perfect symphony of the band and singing voices of the choir this far up the street. He checked his watch, it was a few minutes past eight. Thank God he met praise and worship today, he silently prayed in his mind. As he approached the church, he saw the road corps, the arm of the church youth organization that takes care of traffic, doning their green reflective jackets over the church attires. They directed him to a parking space within the church premises. How life changes. There were not this much cars when he started attending the church. Even if he came an hour later, he could choose from so many empty spaces. There was also no corps arm, no loud speakers and now roofing sheets on the church building. He stepped on the break to allow his wife of over a year now step out with his daughter while he waited on cue to be ushered into a parking space. chidera had already stained her dress. He wondered what it would look like in the next 4 hours when the church service would have ended. Most times, they all looked like an artist's canvas. A plethora of unmatched colours . His eyes escorted his wife into the church. Memories of last night flashed in his head. He rubbed his chin and let out a thin smile. He honked the horn, in a desperate attempt to pressure the corps guy, who was having a hellish period arguing with stubborn motorists. He barely heard the loud bang, when he saw the car before him leap up in the air and land in the one before it on the cue. His glass, like that of the other cars shattered pieces in every direction. His reflex was caught between hitting his chest on the steering wheel and protect his eyes from the flying spindles. Too late. He could not stop the glass from hitting his neck, the suddenly his car fell with a loud bang. So he was up in the air since. His chest hit the steering wheel, the blow took out his breath. He was weak, and fast loosing blood. His fingers felt numb, and a soothing feeling came over him rising slowly from his toes. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone a burning body lifeless on the floor. The smell of ash and diesel hit his nose. Then it hit him, where was his wife, his lovely chidera? where they inside the church? Oh no, please God!! He shouted, his voice barely audible. But the chilling feeling was now getting to his head. He was feeling weaker. Soon the images before him began distorting. Soon, he could no longer hear the cries of others. Soon he began floating. Soon another explosion occurred.

"This shot is live from Abuja," the newscaster said " where this morning, a bomb exploded inside the church building while service was going on. The level of casualty is yet to be ascertained as we keep getting conflicting figures and reports. So far the death toll has risen to over 70, with many more injured. Our man on......" He reduced the volume of the television set. The constant barrage of the morning's explosion was overloading his sences. It barely just past nine, it was like he had been through a week's worth of hell. He instructed his PA not to accept any calls except from the President or his Vice. He needed some moments to clear his head. If such moments existed in this line of duty.
"Who's claiming responsibility?" Asked Ishaku. He summoned the the assiatant director immediately from his vacation. Like himself, his face was diatraught but impassive to the message from the screen before him, a trait that came from over 30years in intelligence.
"That group, Boko something"
"Boko haram" Ishaku pointed out.
"Yeah. I guess they wanted to use this attack to make a statement. Killing innocent people, in a church? Is this what your religion preaches?" As usual, the director of intelligence did not know when to divest personal from professional opinions, especially in sensitive matters like this.
"Sir I would like you to take back that statement" his assistant said in a firm tone. "I have told you times without number that this group is a political one, not a religious one. Islam does not preach killing innocent women and children"
"I'm sorry Isa. But look at this, what would drive someone to plant a bomb in a church. What type of political statement are you trying to make by such carnage?" The media. Nothing sells like bad news to them. The camera man had purposely captured a scene of the burnt bodies of a woman and a baby. The woman held the baby close to her chest, as if trying to save him or her from the raging inferno. The mother's natural instinct to protect her offspring exemplified by this last desperate attempt to her baby's life. There were pieces of dismembered body parts lying around. Headless bodies, deformed bodies. It looked like an abbattoir of human flesh. He walked to the table and picked up the phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"AIT" Ishaku answered, jerking his head toward the television set. "They can't be broadcasting such offensive scenes for Allah's sake. We need some element of damage control."
"The only damage control we need is crushing this this boko haram touts" snapped the director. His assistant ignored him, dialled and after a little while, barked instructions into the receiver and slammed the phone. "Brainless journalists, quoting the Freedom of Information act to me"
"Who do we have there, at the sight of the blast?" Asked the director.
"The best. Bamidele, he and his team have been on ground for the past 2 hours. He reports directly to me."
"I would like to be updated on an hourly basis"
"No problem sir."
There was a knock on his door. This was certainly no time for visitors. His PA stepped in with his mobile phone in his arm
"What is it okonta?"
"Its the president sir"

I'm not a professional critic, not quite.

Why not retitle it 'Pawns In The Chess'? Since most people already know that Chess itself is a game.

However, I would also like to point out that you should self-edit your work first. As this excerpt is somehow wanting in Spellings (the word 'sences' for instance) and punctuations.

But I'll give it to you that you have an impressive sense of bold imaginations. I only skimmed through but I definitely will read it carefully and bring out the little errors I come across.
Well done.

Thanks. Point noted. If you noticed I did indicate that it is unedited, so mispellings would occur. I typed the story straight off my phone. As per the title, I would look into it. This is just a draft