but if I choose darkness instead...

by Brooke Riley - 12:00 PM

Back in March, (as if it was that long ago) I held a short story contest.

Only one person entered.

But that's okay, this story is so amazing that I know it would have been a serious contender.

Lisa Elis, an amazing blogger and epic friend, wrote a wonderful story based on the prompt. And today, I'm sharing her story with you! Without further ado, here's Lisa's beautiful short story.

If You Choose Darkness

When you were born, little brother, I was five.

The prophet looked in your eyes and declared, he is the chosen. I did not know what that meant then. All I knew was that my parents suddenly devoted all energy into looking after you, all while I sat in the corner, wondering why they had forgotten me. I wished I had been chosen, not you.

When they died, little brother, I was seven. There was a raid—screaming from neighboring houses, bangs from pistol shots, and violent pounding on our front door.

Kane, take Ren, and go to the prophet's house. Mother shoved your tiny fist into my hand and led me to the secret door in the cellar. Run. We will come after you.

It was a drill we had all practiced time and time again. But this time it was just me and you. I took you through the dark tunnels and I found the prophet.

But our parents never came.

Why did they stay? I asked

Because Ren is the chosen one, the prophet told me. And that was when I understood what chosen meant. It was that you were meant to live. And that I was meant to make sure of that, no matter what, like my parents had.

I failed you, little brother, when I was twenty two.

He will save the world by defeating the Dark One, the prophet always said, But only when he is older.

So we waited, and the civil war waged on. Fifteen years of running, fighting, and starving. You might have been the chosen, but you sure didn't act like it. You were a rebel—joined the resistance gangs and set fire to soldier barracks, bombed bridges, and smuggled weapons. You laughed at me when I told you you had to stay alive and stay safe. Every time you ran away, I followed you, and every time you got into trouble, I was there. I bribed someone for you. I spent a month in jail for you. I killed someone for you.

Then you met a pretty girl, and finally it was she who convinced you to take care of yourself. Not me. Her. The person who had not been there, for ten years, to save you. But two months later, they caught her with secret letters to resistance leaders. They shot her point blank in a field, and when we found her body, you held it for hours, crying.

You were a different person after that.

Why do I have to wait to defeat the Dark One? you asked.

Because only when you are older can you join the army, rise in the ranks, and get close to him. That was the answer we had been giving you, for fifteen years.

But like always, you wouldn't listen. My life has been a hole, you said, it's time to climb out of it.

You stayed up night after night after night, for five months. You gathered plans, researched, and sat for hours at my desk, scheming. I brought you coffee; I brought you soup; I brought you a blanket when your head dropped onto the table out of sheer exhaustion.

Finally you called together four of the resistance leaders—our friends—and said, we will infiltrate the Tower, we will find the Dark One, and we will put an end to him.

I said, you can't.

You said, I shall die trying.

Fine, I'm coming too.

No, you're staying.

Don't tell me what to do, I hissed, and you gave up.

So we went, the six of us, through the sewers, climbed into the Tower through pipes, and stole into the deadly white halls. We reached the security room, which was, surprisingly, empty.

Where's everyone? someone asked.

You said nothing.

A siren started wailing, and through the footage of the security cameras, I saw troops of armed men rushing down the halls.

They're coming here! one of us yelled. Let's go.

Everyone bolted from the room. I was running out the door when you grabbed my arm.

Kane. Your brows were furrowed, eyes dead serious, the dark circles under your them, disturbing.

I stopped.

Do you hate me?

Of course not. How could you ever have thought that, after everything I’d done?

But only because I’m the chosen one. Right?

I paused. No.

But if I choose the darkness instead? Would you hate me then?

You grinned, and it looked terrifying with your sleep-deprived face and your dark hood and your large fierce eyes.

You.

Yes, Kane. It was me. You gestured at the screens where there was running, there was shooting, there was blood.

I didn’t want you to come. But here you are. If you want to see tomorrow, hide in the broom closet. Now.

You're saving me? I barked a laugh.

Just get in there, idiot. You shoved me into the cupboard with vicious strength and closed the door.

I sank to the floor. Hours passed and in the pitch black of night, I made my way home, the way I came.

The prophet was waiting.

The chosen one, I spat. He betrayed us all.

He gestured at the television.

Footage showed two bodies lying on the floor in pools of blood. One was a middle-aged man, thin pale and dressed in black robes. The other, a few feet from him, was a boy. He wore a dark hood, and his large eyes stared blankly, dark circles beneath his eyes.

Why, I whispered at the picture, choking.

The prophet handed me an envelope. I pulled out the note from inside.

"Dear Kane, if you are reading this, you survived, and I did not. I did what I had to do. There was no other way to get him. ~ Ren."

I finally understood what it meant to be chosen. I just wish, as I did when I was five, that it had been me instead of you.

______

Isn't Lisa's story AMAZING! I know I loved it the moment I read it. Go give her some love by clicking here.