💯 Story Challenge

There Is Always a Choice to Do the Right Thing 🇺🇦

# 11 / 100: When is it enough? Will it ever be enough?

“Tell me, son. What sins do you wish to confess today?” asked the White Light gently.

Petro, frail and shaking, whispered “Father, I have made a grave mistake in my life. I’m old and diseased now and want to unload the burden before I die. Let me tell you my story.

“For our fifth birthday, my parents gifted my brother Andri and I a set of toy cars. There were six different colors and we loved them so much, we played with them day and night.

One night, my mother came into our room crying. She said that our father and her had been fighting a lot — they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things — and had decided to get a divorce. They were going to split us up too; Andri would be with Mama and I with Papa.

For some reason, Andri seemed happy. Like this was his chance for freedom. I hated it. Papa was strict and ruthless — living with him would be hard — but more than that, I couldn't imagine sharing my toys with him, especially my cars. I cried and cried and even though Mama called me selfish, I agreed to Andri keeping one car; just one.

Over the years, he took good care of it and even re-painted the car a happy blue and yellow. It was so beautiful it made me jealous. Every time I saw a picture of it, I wanted it badly. It became my entire focus, an obsession.

Eventually, after about twenty years of waiting, I got my chance. Andri was really sick with COVID and I went to see him. I took a few secret weapons — water guns and smoke bombs — to distract him while I stole the car. Mama said I should just ask him and to gracefully accept if he said no. But she didn’t understand — there was no way I was letting go of my life-long dream! It was mine and I needed to have it!

Petro stopped for breath, tired. Things were going to get worse from here and he didn’t know how to say it without getting a shame attack. Nervously, he continued.

“It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining bright in the cold skies. I saw Andri sleeping in his room. I opened the window and threw a couple of smoke bombs in. As the smoke spread, I heard him cough and scream. Weirdly, his screams energized me; I was electrified! I shot water bullets at him from the distance and they fell on him hard and heavy. At some point I saw blood everywhere but I didn’t care. I ignored his shrieks for help and continued my attack.

This went on for a few hours until suddenly the car was in front of me. “It’s yours,” I heard his voice say, “please take it and leave me alone.”

It didn’t matter to me that he was dead — I had won! I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t think he would ever concede! The car was finally mine!

It was only after I reached home that I realized something was wrong. It didn’t feel like the same car anymore. I found that it was dull and dusty, specked with blood. It was badly damaged, with a few missing doors and wheels. And it had dents and scratches all over.

I was upset. I didn’t like that the car was nothing like the one in my memories, and that I had wasted many years planning this.

Besides everyone hated me — “It’s just a silly car, we cant imagine you’d kill your brother for it!” they lamented over and over again. They reminded me of how much Andri loved and nurtured it all along.

They were right. Andri was a good guy, for sure. And he only kept the car for so long because he loved it too. I realized I could’ve let him keep it if it made him that happy. Maybe he would still be around if I had.

“But,” Petro said stretching his hunchback, “guilt and regret won’t bring back the dead, will it? Which is why I’m here today, Father. To confess and come clean, in the hope that it will absolve me of my crimes.

Please, Father….forgive me.”

The White Light was disgusted. They couldn’t look Petro in the eye. “I have one question,” they spat, “I want to know…why did you do it? Was it desire that blinded you to your brother’s pain? Ego? Insecurity? The hunger for power over him? What was it?”

Petro had expected this question and was prepared with an answer.

“Because I could.”

This story was inspired by the 💯 Story Challenge by Zane Dickens.

Thank you Patricia Ray for using the #100StoryChallenge to stand up in solidarity with Ukraine, and Zane Dickens for continuing it. You can read their stories here:

Preeti writes personal stories about her wonderful life and extremely normal mental health. She believes she is funny, tags her articles with “Humor” and also dabbles in fiction. She finds it weird to refer to herself in the third person.

Dying to read her? Excellent! She will get some coffee-change if you sign up on Medium using her referral link. Or you could buy her some soul juice. She says “Thank you, XOXOXO!”