If Real Life Were Like YA Fantasy

oligopsoneia:

greater-than-the-sword:

I just was a homeless orphan, living on the streets of Washington, DC.

Every day, I would stop and look up at the White House, imagining how nice it would be to be inside those white walls, warm and fed, with the riches of the entire 13 trillion dollar United States budget deficit at my disposal.

One day, I was standing across the street from the White House as usual, digging through a dumpster and clutching my only companion close to my chest: a small pendant filled with plutonium that my mother had given to me before she died mysteriously.

Just then, a black limousine came out of the gates of the white house. The window rolled down. It was the Secretary of State. He looked directly at me and saw my plutonium pendant. “That’s plutonium!” He cried. “After her!”

Instantly a fully armed SWAT team came running after me. I ran through the slums and back alleys of DC, knowing that I could easily escape them because I knew the city better than they did.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I tripped and fell into the pool in front of the Washington Monument. The SWAT team pulled me out and brought me back to the White House.

Once there, they dumped me, still wet, in the Oval Office. The President was there, in his chair.

“Who is this girl?” he said. “Why have you brought her to me?”

“She was carrying this, Mr. President,” said a secret service agent, and held out the plutonium pendant.

“Aha! Plutonium!” Said the President. “How did you get that?”

“My mother gave it to me,” I said.

“What was your mother’s name?” asked the President.

“Jane Smith,” I answered.

“Jane Smith!” said the President. “I did not know you were the daughter of Jane Smith! Your mother was a member of a secret organization called the CIA. She served us well, but died fighting the evil organization known as ISIS. She must have given you the plutonium to protect it.”

“She must have,” I agreed.

The President gave the plutonium back to me. “In honor of your mother’s memory,” he said, “I’ve decided to give you a White House internship. Who knows? If you serve well enough, you may one day become a helicopter pilot for the Secret Service.”

“Thank you,” I said, overwhelmed.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said the President. “This belonged to your father.” He took down an AR-15 hanging on the wall and handed it to me. “Use it wisely.”

this isn’t YA parody this is reporting from 2018