Chosen

“You’ve been chosen,” the man said.

There might have been more but Ian, his head throbbing, body aching and the last vestiges of his mind threatening to abandon him, turned and slammed the door shut.

“Who was it?” His best friend, and newly acquired house guest asked, almost as brightly as the man at the door.

“I don’t know.”

“But you answered the door.”

“No, I opened it. There is a difference.”

“It might have been the verdict.”

“It might have been Santa too, though I doubt it.” Ian snapped.

“You just had to try the Dwarven spirits didn’t you?”

“You and Obsidian both insisted I was polite, it would have been rude not to accept their offer of a drink.”

“A drink perhaps, but ten?”

“We were in a Gnome committee,” Ian said, “trust me If they’d let me have an eleventh I would have.”

“We changed a time line.”

“The committee is still out on that,” Ian pointed out, wishing now he had listened to the voice that said stay in bed a little longer.

Marty gave a sigh, the sort Ian always associated with wives. “I’ll see if he’s still there,” Marty said, unwittingly adding to the image in Ian’s mind.

“Sorry about my friend and thank you for waiting,” Marty said as he opened the front door to find the man still stood there.

“You have been chosen to be cleansed, I have heard this is a house of sin, but it is not too late.”

Marty smiled, politely, then slammed the door shut. Sometimes he just hated Ian.

(word count 263)