THE CHOSEN · BATTLE WITH A CERBEROSIAN PRINCE
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The Chosen: Battle with a Cerberosian Prince The Package
Walking back to his bedroom, he was clearly wideawake. He grabbed his phone from underneath the pillow
and checked the time. It was 2:37 a.m. He took a deep
breath, held it in for a few seconds, and exhaled. He sat on
his bed with his hands on his head in frustration. Trying
to figure out what to do next, he decided to go over to his
desk. He took out his notepad and started to write.
When he glanced at the clock, he realized the time—it
was morning. The birds were chirping, and the sun had
started to pierce through the blinds. He’d been writing all
night. Wow, that was quick. Writing always centered him;
it gave him a sense of calm, a sense of peace. Putting his
notepad away, he started to get ready for the day.
“TRISTAN.”
“TRISTAN.”
His uncle called for him from the kitchen. He preferred to go by TJ, but his uncle’s formality was never to be
questioned.
“Coming, sir,” he called back.
“You don’t wanna be late, so you betta get goin’.”
“Yes sir, I’m almost ready.”
Today was actually a big day. TJ had received multiple
early offers from colleges around the country—full-ride
scholarships, guaranteed. TJ had just come off the best
season of his high school football career, achieving his
best numbers, as a junior. He led his team to the national
championship, was an All-American, and the recipient of
multiple “best player of the year” awards. He was one of
the most sought-after quarterbacks in the country. The
reason today was particularly significant was because he
had appointments with USC and UCLA. Being a native
to Southern California, a local college was a logical choice,
and it didn’t hurt that these two colleges were two of the
best colleges one could attend, at least in California.
Yet with all that he had going for him, all the opportunities that awaited him—opportunities that 99% of his peers
would kill for—TJ was undecided, and not just about which
college to commit to. He couldn’t stop thinking about his
future. Everyone expected him to go to college, through a
football scholarship, and maybe go pro if everything went
according to plan. For his uncle, and everyone else in his
life, it was automatic.
“Make sure you have gas in the car.”
“Yes sir.”
“You got everything you need?”
“Yes sir, I’m good to go.”
“OK, I’ll see you later then. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” TJ responded.
He got his backpack from his room, along with his car
keys, phone, and wallet. As he opened the front door of the
house, he saw a brown box on the porch. It had no information on it, except his name on top, written in black marker.
Getting mail wasn’t anything unusual for TJ; the stacks
of letters on the unused dinner table were proof of that.
What was a bit strange was the informality of the package.
No college logo—or logo of any kind—no return address,
no stamp, not even TJ’s home address, which would be
required to mail any package. It did have his name on it, so
he knew the package was at the very least intended for him.
With curiosity getting the better of him, TJ dropped all his
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