Another one of my goofy writing exercises. It inspired a story I’m working on but the story has changed so it is unlikely I will use this scene. Therefore, this is short story is just for fun. Thank you for reading!
“Hello Ma’am, My name is Mr. Robinson and I am at your house today to inform you that you are The Chosen One.” The tall man in black said. Helen put her hand on her chest. “But I can’t be the chosen one, I’m an 82 year old woman.” She said.
The tall man lowered his sunglasses. “We are just as surprised about it as you are but nevertheless, you are in fact the chosen one. And the world is now relying on you to save it.” He said. Helen leaned against the wall. Her hands shaking.
“Who is it dear?” Bob called from his maroon rocking chair that he never left. The tall man stepped into the doorway. “I am with the IRA sir and your wife is the chosen one.” Mr. Robinson said. “Chosen? Chosen for what?” Bob asked. “They hadn’t said yet.” Helen answered. “Ma’am, may I come in to explain the situation. We do not have much time.” The man said. Helen nodded and opened the doorway. “Of course, of course. Just take your shoes off. Would you like some tea?” She asked, walking to the kitchen with the man following. “Um no thank you.” He said, pulling his black shoes off and setting them against the wall. “Are you sure? I have way to much of it. The neighbor keeps bringing me tea and then I can’t drink all of it.” Helen said.
The man with the IRA, International Relationships with Aliens, sat at the small dining room table with its’ tablecloth covered in yellow flowers. “Okay, tea does sound nice.” He said. Helen smiled and poured him a cup of tea and then handed it to him before sitting down at the table across from him. “Oh do you want some strawberries, I have way to many of those as well.” She said standing. “No, no, I’m okay with the tea thank you. I need to explain to you how you’re the chosen one.” He said. “Oh yes, this chosen one business.” She sat back down.
“Helen, who is that?” Bob called from his chair. The guest looked at Bob. “As I said, I’m from the IRA. Your wife is the chosen one.” He said. Helen waved her hand in the air near the IRA agents’ face. “Oh don’t mind him. He’s senile. I love him but he’s senile.” She said. He turned back to the old lady. “Okay. Um, as I was saying. You are the chosen one. Currently we have a situation. We sent your grandson on a mission to save the planet from sure destruction from the future but he was changed into a four year old and is now demanding his grandmother and will not work with anyone until you bring him some cantaloupe and some honeydew melon, I believe is what he requested.” The man explained. Helen gasped. “Oh dear! But I don’t have any honeydew melon or cantaloupe! I only have strawberries!” She said with her hand over her mouth.
Mr. Robinson stared at her for at least 10 seconds. His eyebrows frowning. Slowly his left eyebrow raised as he became aware that she was serious. “Well. We could run to the store first before putting you on the alien space station to save him. But I don’t think that your ability to get honeydew melon and cantaloupe is really at the top of our concerns at the moment. We could probably have headquarters teleport us some….” He said. Helen shook her hand in the air again. “No no no no no that won’t do. He likes the fruit I get from the farmers market down the street. We must get that specifically.” She stood. Pausing with her right hand on the table. “Bob where did you leave my purse?” She asked her husband. Bob turned to look at her, unwillingly taking his eyes off the weather report. “I don’t know dear. Check by the bed.” He said.
The elderly woman moved down the hallway at the pace of an old dial up computer trying to download solitaire. The man’s shoulders slumped. “Ma’am, the government will be able to cover the cost of the honeydew melon and the cantaloupe.” He called after her. Again, she waved her hand at him. But this time behind her back. “Nonsense, deary, I have to have a purse. I’m not quite sure how being in space is going to affect my allergies and blood pressure, so I will need my medication. Besides we do not take handouts in this household.” She said. Her voice echoing as she rounded the corner into her bedroom.
Eventually, Helen and Mr. Robinson were sitting in the government IRA vehicle. “What is the address?” he asked, after pressing a button that caused at least a dozen screen navigational screens to surround him. Helen clutched her purse and stared at the screens. Her eyebrows furrowed. “I do not know. I just know that it’s by the Casey’s behind Mathew’s Elementary. The one Jacob went too for Kindergarten.” She said. The man paused, finger extended towards the screen and stared at it for a second. He sighed and pressed another button. All of the screens retracted. “Okay then. Just tell me how to get there.” He revved his engine. “Must you do that? I have neighbors.” Helen fussed. Mr. Robinson rolled his eyes. “Ma’am. Please just tell me to go left or right.” He said. “Oh. Turn right.” She said. The car lunged forward. “Goodness.” Helen gasped.
“We received a prophesy thirteen years ago that Aliens would be invading Earth and would leave devastation and death in their path and would almost completely wiping out all of humanity. But that there would be a single person that would be capable of beating them and that this person would need to have excellent strategy, empathy and the ability to shoot well in a first person shooter if we could find them. So to find the perfect candidate to help protect humanity. We created a free video game capable of challenging and assessing it’s users based off an algorithm. Your grandson bought this game and excelled incredibly. He was then recruited and trained to defeat the aliens. This mission was fulfilled two months ago when we sent him out. However, he was captured and turned to into a four year old who will not stop asking for snacks from his grandmother from our operatives attempting to rescue him. So here we are. We need you to infiltrate the enemies base and get to the cell where your grandson is being held then give him his snacks and convince him to come home with you. We have scientists working on a device that will transform him back to his correct age and then he will finish the mission and save the world.” The IRA agent triumphantly announced.
“Sounds lovely.” Said Helen. She squeezed the cantaloupe, testing for ripeness. “How long will it take us to get to him? I want to make sure the fruit is at the proper ripeness when we reach him.” She asked. The man stared at the elderly woman. “Um well we’ve got to stop by the base on Mars first to pick up the operative that will join us but it should only take about two days to reach the enemies base with the current technology.” He said. Helen smiled. “Okay, we will need a cantaloupe that will be at it’s ripest in two days then.” The woman squeezed five more melons before deciding and placing them in her carry basket. “Let’s go save my grandson.” She said.
Closed System 