2004

Prologue

What does it mean to be a brother?

That is the question my father asked me so many years ago. I was just a teenager then. Maybe, oh, 13 or 14. Yeah, 14. 

I still remember his voice in my mind. Like a goddamned scratch from somewhere within your skin that you can't get for the life of you. He was standing there, his glasses just freshly wiped, and a tired but meaningful look in his eyes. They were purple eyes, I remember. But I think the humans see things differently than us stick figures. Where we saw purple, you saw black. Where we saw a weapon of life and death, you saw a mere tool for amusement. I'll never understand you humans.

But there are a lot of things I still don't understand. 

Like what it means to be a brother. 

He was.. he was sitting down beside me on my bed. The sun was a nice shade of gold that day. Oh, I really liked gold. My little brother prefered obsidian, but I always liked gold...

I had my youngest brother cradled in my arm. He was so unbelievably tiny, you had no idea how much it hurt, all the worry I was in that I'd crush him with my bigger, longer arms. 

My father still had remains of dried blood on his hands. I know because I knew where it came from. He'd just come from the bathroom. He had just come from patching up my younger brother. I hate fighting my younger brother, but our baby brother's life was on the line.. I don't know why he did what he did. I'll probably never know now.

I remember the smell of ink that always followed my dad. It was so strong. I remember it covering up the smell of dried blood, or the smell of the "dust pixies" in the room, as my baby brother once called them.

He said to me, "Do you know why your brother does what he does?"

And I was unsure how to respond. Because I didn't know. 

I shook my head, and my father, kind and understanding, took his son from my arms, and held him, whispering babyish babbles and nothings to him. 

There's a fine line between brotherhood and fatherhood. One is simply closer in age. But it still makes a world of difference. I remember watching how he tenderly rocked my baby brother to sleep, his big orange eyes slowly drooping, before falling into a dreamful wonderland. I could tell, because he smiled in his sleep. 

He took a breath in, and went on.

"It's because of you, Chosen. You're his older brother, you're the older brother. I'm not around very much, so it all ends up in your hands. If you want Dark to treat him better, you need to learn to treat him better too."

I was confused, as I was certain I had always taken excellent care of my baby brother. I interjected, and spoke up.

"But father, I do treat him well! I give him his milk, I change his diapers, I teach him, I make him feel loved and cared for!"

His hand raised, and he stopped me from going on. Nowadays, it would be easier to stand up and face him, but back then, in my eyes he was our provider. And in full honesty, the only reason we were still alive. If not for his genius, somewhat psychotic mind for creating us, paired with his caring fatherly nature for taking us back in, Dark and I would be off dead somewhere in the darkest corners of the Internet or worse. 

"I don't mean the baby, Chosen. I mean your other brother. The Dark Lord."

His words seemed to fly above my head back then. "Dark?" I remember thinking. "What have I ever done wrong to him? If he wants to be bitter and distant all the time, then so be it! But he's old enough to know he shouldn't be picking on a helpless baby" I said out loud to my father. 

He just shook his head. There seemed to be power just radiating off that man.. that man...

"There is more to being a family than just living together, Chosen."

He inched my baby brother further into his arms, and rubbed his little head softly.

"There needs to be a sense of community. One little baby shouldn't get in the way of that." he said, almost airily, like he knew something I didn't. Though it was true. He knew so much more than me. You humans... just seem to know everything. Even how to create life, and the ways to best sustain it. Both inside and outside the screen. 

"But father, that goes against what you've always told us, remember? 'It takes a village to raise a child!'" I replied, quoting a set of wise words from him. He pushed his square glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sat further back on the bed. 

"What's a village without community, Chosen? If there was no community, there'd be no village, and if there was no village, there would be no one to take care of this baby."

I still didn't understand where he was coming from. "But you-"

"And at this tender age, I know you and Dark are going through a strain. You're discovering yourself, and figuring things out. I know it's hard to balance everything: yourself and the life of a newborn on your hands too. But these years are as special for him as they are for you both. Treat him and yourself right."

He gingerly lifted the baby away from his chest, and rested him in my arms once again. I smiled softly.

"Hey.." I whispered, poking his chubby cheek. I felt the bed move as my father rose from it, and headed to the doorway. He leaned against it for a minute more. 

"One day, Chosen.. you will understand what it truly means to be a brother. To feel community, and be welcomed in it with the similar cause of raising a child.

"But usually by then, the people who were longing to know all along, find out at the very moment after its all too late." he said to me softly, his eyes gazing downward. 

He then softly shifted his weight back onto his feet, and silently walked away from my bedroom door. 

I sat there, thinking for a while, as I cradled this infant in my arms. What does it mean to be a brother? Is he saying I'm the reason Dark has been so violent? That can't be, I'm never violent! I've always been there for him whenever he needed me, and I've been a great role model ever since this kid came around!"

My thought process was then interrupted by my baby brother's face scrunching up and cooing softly. And with that, the entire conversation was out of my mind, as my only goal then was to focus on the bundle of joy in front of me.

About 10 years later, his question came back to haunt me, in the form of a fierce battle between three stick figures and a cursor who believed they were sworn rivals. Two of those figures were above their 20s, one was still just a teenager. But in truth, only the cursor and I knew the reality of it all.

Those three stick figures were brothers.