So I recently saw a writing prompt on Fiction Can Be Fun. It sounded like fun, so I decided to make some fiction based on it.
The prompt had to do with journals. Specifically, the scenario involves somebody either losing a journal or finding a journal that belongs to somebody else. My initial thought was what would happen if somebody found one of my journals, full of my weird Sci-Fi world building notes. Then I thought of another idea that was even wackier than that.
I want to emphasize a few points: this story is 100% fiction. Additionally, the fact that this story is set exactly twenty years ago today is pure coincidence, and I do not mean to make light of what happened exactly twenty years ago tomorrow. And lastly, this story is not to be considered canon for the Tomorrow News Network universe.
LITTLE BOOK OF SECRETS
The Washington Monument stood tall and proud in the distance. On the opposite end of the National Mall stood the Lincoln Memorial, less tall yet equally proud. But neither the Washington nor the Lincoln would be included on this field trip. Nor would the Air and Space Museum, nor the Natural History Museum, nor any of the other fun and exciting museums of the Smithsonian. There wouldn’t even be a quick stop at Union Station to see all the trains. The young man wandered away from the group, feeling morose about this trip to D.C.
That was the moment when the young man found, lying abandoned on a park bench, a travel-worn journal with the following words etched in gold on the cover:
Property of Talie Tappler
Tomorrow News Network
The young man picked up the journal, not entirely certain what he was meant to do with it or how he was going to return it to its rightful owner. He thought perhaps there might be an address or phone number on the first page, but the instant he opened the journal the pages started flapping by impossibly fast—and there seemed to be an impossible number of pages, too—until they settled on a page marked with the current date: September 10, 2001. There, scribbled in a loose and carefree handwriting, were the words: “interview with President Gore” with Gore’s name crossed out and replaced with “Bush” and a question mark.
Curious, the young man turned to the following day. It just said “W.T.C., Pentagon” and “get lots of B-roll,” whatever that meant. When the young man tried to flip forward to the day after, the pages started flipping ahead by themselves once more, as if propelled by a strong wind. How many pages could there possibly be in this thin, little journal? How many days—or years, rather—could they cover? Many strange names and terms were penciled in for future dates: housing bubble, COVID-19, Thwaites Glacier, 99942 Apophis…. And further into the future: Galactic Inquisitor, Othniel’s Object, Reginald Zaphiro, Starship Virago…. The words “attack of the Planet Eaters” were surrounded by stars and hearts. That was scheduled for a date in the mid-30th Century!
The young man snapped the journal shut, feeling confused and disoriented.
“Pailly? Quit your lallygagging! Let’s go!”
“Sorry, Mr. Chester!” the young man said, quickly stuffing the journal into his backpack. He’d have to figure out what to do with the strange little book later.