That Stupid Chosen


That stupid Chosen.

I hear the words that I once said about him echo in my head. That stupid Chosen. He’s all I can think of right now. How…why…when? Why didn’t we pay attention? Why didn’t we see the warning signs? How could it have come to this?

That stupid Chosen. No one has spoken since…he died. It’s painful to say it. He’s dead. Gone. He didn’t even die a hero’s death, some sort of valiant self–sacrificing thing. That would almost make this whole thing easier. No. We killed him. We did. His friends. How did we manage to do that? How did I manage to do that? I look at my cards. They’re blood–stained. They still have his blood on them. It’s not even dry. I nearly fall to my knees.

That stupid Chosen. Why didn’t I see the signs? I was the one who had known him the longest out of all of us. Why couldn’t we see that his happy–go–lucky nature was a show? When he thought no one was watching, his expression would turn serious, and he would look as if he were thinking about the events in his past. I never once bothered to ask him what was wrong; instead, I was glad had decided to shut up for once. Maybe if I had bothered, maybe if I had talked to him, things would be different now.

But they’re not. And we still have a ways to go. Must not let the small things get to me. Hah. Small things. I sigh. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I bite my lip. Can’t lose it now. After we save the world, there will be all the time in the world to cry. Instead, I simply whisper to myself, “You stupid Chosen.”