The words chosen one came up somewhere in the conversation, but she couldn’t remember where. She just knew they all sounded crazy.
The chosen one was a boy. The chosen one was always a boy.
She was no boy. Anyone looking at her could tell you that. Tall perhaps, but with long black hair, eyes the color of redwood, and the pinkest, girliest dress you’d ever seen, it was clear she was a girl. No, she was no chosen one. They were wrong, despite their yammering.
She’d grown up hearing stories about the chosen one who every one hundred years saved humanity from itself. The last one had snuck in and killed one of the most evil men alive in world war two then made it look like a suicide so no one could take credit. He was a true chosen one. He had the right background, the right training, and all the right skills. She wasn’t him.
What didn’t make sense was that a hundred years had not passed. It was too soon. The next wouldn’t come until at least 2044. They were wrong. They had to be. She wasn’t even eighteen yet. That was too young to be the chosen one.
She’d been dropped off at a cheap hotel, handed a room key, and told to find the room with two sacred numbers. People who didn’t know would be confused by that statement but not people like her. They knew the right ones.
That was where she stood now, afraid to open the door. Part of her was hoping she was wrong and the key wouldn’t work. Taking a deep breath, she slid the key card in and out. The light flashed green. Her heart sank. This was the right place.
She pushed open the door, expecting a room full of people.
It was empty.
It wasn’t the wrong room, though. The small rolled up piece of paper on the bed said it was the right room. She knew the carefully made wax seal on it. The chosen council from NATO.
With a sigh, she threw down her bag and flopped on the bed. She opened the paper, hoping for some sort of idea on what she was supposed to do. All the paper said was that she would know her purpose when she saw it.
She let out a disgruntled snort and laid back on the bed. Looked like she was staying the night. She should probably call her parents, she thought. She even pulled her phone out of her bag, but stopped before turning it on. Instead, she put it on the nightstand. Later she promised, before bed, but not right now. Not right now. Right now she wanted to do nothing but lay there.
Why did the council have to be so cryptic? Maybe someone was playing a cruel joke on her family. It was known to happen once and a while. Usually someone recorded it and put it up on youtube or something. No one was recording her, though.
After a few minutes, she sat up and found the tv remote. Well, if she was staying the night, she might as well watch some cable shows. It wasn’t like she had cable at home. Her parents couldn’t afford it.
The first channel to come up was some news channel. She flipped past it looking for cartoons or something. Anything that wasn’t news.
Then she stopped. What was that they were saying about bears?
Click click and she was back to the news channel. They’d moved on to some story about a world summit breaking down.
She sat up straighter. Something inside her stirred. Watching those world leaders on the screen, she felt something stronger than she’d ever felt before. It was a strange mix of hate and joy, calmness and an intense urge to get up and move.
Purpose, she thought. What she felt was purpose.
She was a chosen one.
FFM Day 17 and another challenge. This one was to write a story with magical realism, indirect dialogue, and a literary archetype from a list of ten (I got chosen one when I rolled a D10 dice). I'm not sure it it totally fits, but I did what I could with it. I'm still not fully sure I get the magical realism.
I really like Watching those world leaders on the screen, she felt something stronger than she’d ever felt before. It was a strange mix of hate and joy, calmness and an intense urge to get up and move. Purpose, she thought. What she felt was purpose. Your protagonist is such an interesting character.