Photo by Franck V. on Unsplash

They Only Want the Girl

A story for those who wonder if they’re eligible for alien abduction

The 2019 G7 Summit started poorly, but when a blackberry, a piece of sandpaper, a hovering puddle of espresso and a 1982 printing of George Orwell’s “Down and Out in Paris and London” materialized in front of the participating world leaders the whole thing took a turn for the worse.

The first few minutes began with each leader’s security force trying to catch the floating items, running around the large, ornamental room like flies around a light. Each swat failed and so the men in black suits and various ties pulled their weapons, but the overzealous violence only angered the UFO’s and resulted in the clobbering of one agent by George Orwell’s lesser known work. After the guards ran around for ten minutes, they abandoned all effort with panted breath and hands on knees. At this, the items decided to speak.

“Okay, then,” the sandpaper began, “now that we’ve got the predicted ‘aggression before questioning’ out of the way I think we should begin the meeting.”

“Meeting?” said Justin Trudeau, “but we’re in the middle of a meeting.”

“Yeah,” said Donald Trump, pointing his finger, “and you weren’t invited.”

“We’re not the types of beings who need invitations to trivial meetings such as this,” the sandpaper said.

“Yeah,” came the blackberry, it’s small body nodding like a bobblehead, “what are you people talking about anyway? Climate change? International security? World peace?” The collective of floating objects laughed.

“I suppose you four pests know how to solve our problems?” Angela Merkel spat, her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised like a diva in the playground defending her honor.

“Absolutely,” the puddle of espresso said, steam rising from it’s form every time it spoke. “We just traveled here from not only an alternate dimension, but one that’s over 90 billion lightyears away. How far can you people travel again?”

A silence fell around the room. Shinzo Abe put a hand up to his face to hide the tears. The espresso went right through him.

“Okay, then,” the sandpaper said again, “to business. We’re here for nothing more than a simple ask. We’d like you seven leaders to know that our being here is nothing more than a courtesy and we can easily take anything we want without asking or even being detected. Understood?”

The leaders looked at each other, nodded.

“Splendid!” said George Orwell.

A moment of silence fell between everyone in the room.

“So,” Theresa May began, “what’s the question?”

“We’d like Christi Forkel,” the book said without hesitation.

Another silence fell around the room. Finally, Merkel spoke up.

“What the hell is that?” she asked.

“Christi Forkel?” the book repeated with confusion, it’s pages curving like forehead wrinkles.

“Is that like a…nice car?” Trump asked, his fingers dancing on top of the large wooden table in the room. The four objects shifted positions, taking turns looking at each other.

“Well, she’s one of yours,” the sandpaper said, floating closer to Trump.

“Um,” he said, scanning the other leaders’ faces in embarrassment, his hands held up in defense. “Look, I um, I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I paid the one girl off and that’s it. I’ve got nothing else to hide.”

“Oh, not that!” the sandpaper shook in annoyance. “She’s one of your citizens!”

“Oh,” Trump said, laughing away the apprehension, “of course, of course. Christi Forkel, of course.”

“You know this girl?” Emmanuel Macron asked.

“No idea,” said the sweating, orange President.

The sandpaper sighed heavily. “She’s a nine year old girl from Kentucky. The brightest this world has to offer.” Shinzo Abe cried harder. The sandpaper continued.

“We’d like to ask you all if we can take her from this planet to our own. We have a few questions to ask her, a few tests to run. We’ll bring her back safe and sound, guaranteed.”

“Hold up, hold up, hold up,” Trump said, putting both arms up to ensure total silence. “You’re telling me that I, the leader of the Free World, am not the smartest person on the planet?”

At this, not only the floating aliens laughed, but everyone else in the room, too. It was a belly aching, fart inducing, tear shedding, breath taking, knee weakening, throat drying laugh. And a collective “No” followed behind.

“And besides,” came Merkel, “I’m the leader of the Free World. Plus, I’m German, so…aren’t I, technically, the smartest person in the world?”

“Sorry, but no,” said George Orwell’s paperback, “it’s Christi Forkel.”

Shinzo Abe had to sit down. The laughing spurt did him well, but the constant reminder of his country’s failing did a type of damage to his soul that a good laugh with buddies couldn’t fix.

“Might I ask,” came Carlo Cottarelli, “what does this girl have that is so special?”

“Good question!” said the blackberry. “For starters, her IQ far exceeds what modern tests believe to be the highest level; her predilection towards creativity is on par with some of the greatest minds, like Aristotle and Darwin and Da Vinci; her intuition makes her a snappy answer; but most of all, and maybe best of all, she’s got a great attitude, and I think we can all agree that’s what the collective universes need, right?”

Everyone shrugged, still unhappy to hear that after their years of education and ladder climbing they failed to beat the lucky genetics of a young girl.

“So,” Orwell’s pages opened and closed together like a clap, “what’s the verdict?”

The leaders huddled together. Hands gestured, heads were thrown back, eyes rolled and eventually they parted to face the floating aliens.

“You can have her,” Trump said, “but you have to bring her back in one piece, okay?”

“She’ll be in perfect hands,” the espresso steamed.

“I guess it’s time to say goodbye,” the sandpaper said, floating closer to the leaders. Trump held out his hand and the sandpaper gently rubbed it, doing the same to the other leaders. The blackberry bopped everyone’s nose, the coffee let each leader take a whiff and Orwell fluttered its pages in their faces. Afterwards each object disappeared without another word.

The next couple minutes in the room went by with no movement, just dead stares and silence. After a minute, Merkel spoke up.

“So…meeting adjourned?”

Everyone nodded and each leader left the room in continued silence, thinking about all the blackberries and coffees they’d ever consumed, all the sandpaper they’d used to touch up their houses and the Orwell book they never heard of, but would surely be reading later.

Experimental Fiction Novelist. Check out my work on Amazon. “Okay, Sweet Universe” and “The Blind Planet Start-Up.”

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