To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread.
As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Future]
Definition: the time or a period of time following the moment of speaking or writing; time regarded as still to come.
╰┈➤ Write a piece that explores this concept
Word Count: Minimum 400 words, no maximum.
The strange looking bald man looks me over thoroughly. Tugging on the straps holding my suit together, poking at the water and air tight seams.
This day has been a long time coming-now that it’s here I’m feeling anxious. Doubtful.
The Program guarantees that all entrants will survive. Assured us that several human studies were successful. I suddenly wish I had pressed on what “several” meant.
The ground rumbles and the building shakes around me, reminding me why this is necessary. My family is one of the few who can afford their survival into the next era. Ironic that our money can buy us survival into a time where that same money is inconsequential.
This suit is stifling, I’m already sweating. The bald man assures me it’s frigid where I’ll be held, so the insulation is by design.
Gesturing for me to follow him, he begins down the dim hallway-there’s some sort of pod at the end. He steps into it, and makes room for me next to him. Following suit I ask “Where are we going?”
“To the Room”
Great, really clears that up for me.
Luckily, he continues. “It has the enclosures where you and your family will be held. Actually, everyone from your state who entered the program will be held in the room with you. But you all have separate appointment times, so you’ll only see your family before you begin the Rest.”
“Everyone from my state, you said?”
“Yes, there are several Rooms, and it was determined that breaking up populations by geographical location would be most efficient.”
I want to ask if he will participate in the program… in the Rest. But I don’t. Mostly because I won’t know what to say if he says “no”.
The air is already getting colder as we take the-shockingly long-ride down to the Room.
Finally, the doors to the elevator pod open and we step out-I’m grateful for this suit already, my breath visible in the air before me.
The Room is vast, spanning hundreds of feet from every angle. The walls and floor appear to be cement. It’s damp, suffocatingly so, and the dampness just makes the cold more harsh against the exposed skin of my face.. The most troubling thing about the Room are the metal, oval enclosures. There are hundreds-no, it must be thousands. Spaced evenly apart in a grid, with enough space to walk between and around them.
The bald man walks with confidence toward the left side of the room, navigating through the human-sized oval containers. He’s already quite far from me as I gape at the spectacle.
Hurrying to catch up, I see people have already arrived. There are 2 people in a white suit that matches mine, and another in a dark blue suit to match the man.
As we near, I consider the white suits. They must be my aunt and uncle-I haven’t seen them in 15 years, easily. I don’t really recognize them, but I see the resemblance between the woman and my own mother.
I’m shocked, really, that our money was shared with them. That they’re here. They certainly couldn’t afford this on their own. There’s so much bad blood, I would have thought mom and dad would have gladly left them in this time to suffer through what is to come…
“We’ll wait until your mother and father arrive before we begin the Enclosure,” the bald man pulls me from my thoughts.
“No need, we can go ahead,” I reply.
He looks a bit surprised, but nods after a brief pause to consider my response. I give a wave to the people I’ve decided are my aunt and uncle and turn to follow the man.
“Please step in, do you see the indicators for where to step?”
“I do,” I cover the stickers of a right and left shoe with my own feet, respectively.
“Please sit down on the ‘x’.”
I obey.
“I am going to hook up the machinery that will provide your life-support during the Rest. There will be an IV for fluids and nutrition, along with a device that will cover most of your head and face. It will be uncomfortable, but you won’t be awake much longer.”
I nod as he begins the process, explaining each step as he completes it. My thoughts are gone, my brain an empty cavity-I’m listening, but not really. It doesn’t matter.
“You are ready for the Rest, please lie back to rest your head on the cushion.”
“Thank you for your assistance, sir.”
He nods. “I am initiating now.”
Before I can begin to reconcile what is about to happen to me, it becomes irrelevant-the world is black.
WC: 782
WC: 466 How am I supposed to live in a future without the love of my life? I still haven't been able to process what Ben did. All the major news outlets have reached out to me by now, trying to get as much of a scoop as they can on who Ben was and how Electric Green saved the world from Desastre's Doomsday Device (or whatever it's called). Speaking of Desastre, I can't even tell you if he's alive or not. Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with the man after I'd handed him over to the authorities as Prism Peach. I'll never forgive him for attempting to destroy the planet, but I'll hate him forever for destroying the person that mattered the most to me. I haven't entered my room or slept in two days. There are just so many things in there that remind me of him. Everything from plushies to jewelry… he was the kind of boyfriend who really knew how to spoil a girl, and it showed. The President declared a national day of mourning for Ben, and asked me to take the stage and be broadcast worldwide to speak a eulogy in Ben's honor. I refused the offer, regardless of how much money he offered me. It just didn't feel right for Ben's noble sacrifice to be capitalized on for big media money. I knew Ben wouldn't approve of me making a grand spectacle out of his life. He wore a mask for a reason, after all. At this point, I keep getting my doorbell rung several times within the hour, so I just tried my hardest to explain through them. Last night, I put on pajamas and locked myself in the living room with all the windows closed and started watching Netflix instead. That's when I stumbled upon a martial arts movie that gave me a great idea. Today, I've decided to disappear without leaving a trace. I've already packed up my bags and carved myself a walking stick. I'll be embarking on a pilgrimage to hone my skills in the magical and martial arts to the highest level I can handle. Before Ben died, he entrusted me with the task of protecting the planet he loved, and I refuse to let that part of his legacy fade away. The Prism Peach who saw her boyfriend sacrifice his life for the sake of protecting the planet and the people he grew to love so much… she died along with him. What's left of her is just an empty husk shackled to the realm of the living over responsibilities that were never hers to begin with. I will make sure this world lives on to the brightest future I can promise them, even if my heart is but an empty, dark hole.
I am once again making fluffy stuff to counter yelelele's sadness.
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
“Do you ever think we’ll get out of here?” Jamie asked out of the blue, looking up at her boyfriend as she laid her head on his lap, comforted by the gentle touch of his fingers running through her dark locks.
Leon smiled at the question, looking out at the crashing waves in front of them as he pondered his reply. “I think so. One day– very soon” He nodded, sounding fairly confident in his words.
“Well?” Jamie asked, taking one of his hands into hers, giving it a brief kiss before holding it close to her chest.
“I think one day… we’re going to graduate and we’re going to have one hell of a party with all of our friends” his eyes lit up at the mention, already able to envision the event unfolding before him. “And then you’ll get accepted into your dream college and I’ll follow you” he glanced back down at Jamie with a beaming smile, brushing away the few strands that dared find their way onto her face with the wind.
She smiled back, a faint, subtle thing compared to his but every bit as genuine. “That sounds nice”
“And then one day we’ll graduate uni and you’ll get your dream job in the place you’ve always wanted to work in as the thing you’ve always wanted to work as… and I’ll be by your side every step of the way” he nodded, as if he was proud of himself for it already.
“Pretty ambitious, huh,” Jamie replied with a chuckle. “And then?”
His face went serious and he looked back down at her. “Not enough? What do you want to happen?”
A scoff fell from her lips as she looked away, briefly glancing at the sea, taking in its soothing sound before replying quietly. “I want us”
“Us?” Leon blinked.
Jamie sat up with a grunt, turning to look at her boyfriend properly, meeting his curious stare. “One day, we’re gonna get married” she announced confidently, watching as his cheeks turned red from her words. “And we’re gonna have a nice house, in a nice place. And I’ll have a good job and you can do music like you always wanted… and maybe– maybe we’ll even have a kid… or two” she shrugged. “No more than that”
He laughed at her words, burying his face into her shoulder to hide the embarrassment on his face. She leaned down, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head, whispering softly. “What do you say?”
“That sounds really nice…”
She took his hand into her own once again, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two turned towards the sight of the ocean before them. “The future will be bright for us, Lee’. You just wait and see”
# 462
(CW: two deaths that could've happened)
Riley had a superpower. She could see things before they happened. One moment, she’d be peacefully minding her business in the present, and the next, she’d have an image of the future thrust into her brain. Sometimes it was a video, but nevertheless, it only lasted a few seconds. Then, back to the present it was.
Some visions laid further ahead into the future than others. Some would be a minute away and others, years. Which is why she kept a leather-bound journal, to jot down the events she saw unfold and when they would take place, and carried it with her everywhere she went.
Her son, little Anthony, was five. Currently, he was playing with his toys—building blocks Grandma had bought him. He had his thin blonde hair and that happy-go-lucky grin.
And then he was at school, choking on his hot dogs, dying. Despite how much the image horrified her, she made herself look for clues as to when it would happen.
The blackboard read September 12. Tomorrow.
And then he was perfectly fine, playing with Grandma’s building blocks. Riley shuddered. No way was she giving him hot dogs tomorrow. Or ever. She opened her journal and wrote, No hot dogs for Anthony, though she doubted she’d forget that.
The next day, as she was picking him up from school (alive and healthy, hot dog crisis averted!), she had another vision.
Her car, swerving violently to avoid a turkey, of all things. And then the jolt of flying into the ditch, going full-force into a tree. Windshield shattering on impact, heads jerking forward, then back.
The vision gone, she saw herself at the wheel, but the vehicle undamaged and paused at a red light. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
Not dead. Yet.
She searched her memory for where the crash took place…and recalled the blue street sign telling her Jansen Road. Good, that was one street she was able to steer clear of. But not good—she ground her teeth—she didn’t know when she was supposed to crash into the moronic turkey.
The light turned green. When she got home, she’d write a note not to go down Jansen Road.
These predictions were always of something bad, of something bad happening to her or the ones closest to her. And so, she guessed she had them to prevent these things. Even if not, she would of course.
Later that evening, yet another vision was to be had. An image this time, rather than the usual video. A newspaper. It read, WORLD WAR III BREAKS OUT.
Guess her power now included predictions of world-wide bad things.
September 24, 2018 (three years from now), was the date on the newspaper. Aside from the title and date, she wasn’t able to read the newspaper—the image was gone before she’d had the chance.
Before she forgot it, she penned the date and title in her journal, beneath the reminder to stay away from, what she referred to in her mind as, Turkey Road.
But she didn’t understand; every one of her visions predicted an event she could stop. How was she going to stop the third world war?
She just couldn’t.
A single mother stops the third world war….Nope, she couldn’t fathom it.
How?
Over the years, she sometimes pondered it. Never did she come up with the answer.
September 24, 2018. It rolled around and yet, Riley never heard of any World War III breaking out. Nor did she the following week, or the following month.
And she kept up with the news.
But her vision, it never came true. She was sure she didn’t do anything to forestall it, so why didn’t it come to fruition?
Not that she wanted it to. But still. Weird.
TW: References to Suicidal Ideation and Depression. Today, you lay amidst the rubble, holding the protective gemstone and awaiting your fate. The stone elemental would find you later. You knew that. Tomorrow he would come for you, and maybe he’d offer some useless explanation of why the protection he granted was worth it. The days that followed could go either way. You didn’t know if there were other survivors.
Maybe you would meet them, if they existed. You knew, inherently, you’d return to where you’d left the pretty barista and see to it that she was buried. Be it tomorrow, the next day, or even longer than that. You would find her and lay her to rest.
Tomorrow, you’d beg for answers. Why had you been spared? You would scavenge for meaning in what was left of your life. The weeks that would follow, you imagine you’d see the beginning of the Earth being reborn. Even months past that, you’d perhaps work hand in hand with these elementals to restore this world to what it had been before. Assist in forging the future to erase the past.
Maybe it was wrong of you to feel guilt for surviving. Perhaps, you would learn to live with this. The tension in your chest would ease one day, months from now, and a smile would grace your lips for the first time since the world collapsed. But at the same time, you wonder if maybe sparing you had been a means to an end.
Perhaps tomorrow would bring about an all new Hell down upon you. Maybe it would make the idea of fire and brimstone seem tame. Perhaps it would cement that sinking feeling you’ve had that accepting the gemstone had been the worst decision of your life. The darkness that seemed to stalk after you for months before this would overtake you in the days to come. It would swallow you whole and destroy you from the inside out. Weeks would pass, and you would forget about the pretty barista. You would lose the crumpled receipt paper with her number scrawled across it. Weeks would transform into months as the elementals secluded you and any other survivors from their new world. You would be like a glorified trophy to them. Kept alive for their amusement.
You think as the anniversary of one year came through, maybe you’d be working with the elementals as equals and raising the kids you’d learn were also spared. You would teach them of the human’s wrongdoings and of how to respect the Earth, not destroy it. The years would flash past in the blink of an eye because they would give you a purpose.
But maybe, just maybe, as the anniversary date rolled around, you’d be a shell of your former self. The light in your eyes would have dimmed. Perhaps it sputtered out in a few months time, or maybe it would take until the moment the anniversary fell onto your lap. Your appetite will fade too. In your mind’s eye you can almost imagine the gorgeous foods the elementals would prepare, but you can also see yourself ill at the sight of it. In this future, you’d be lucky they acknowledged you. Food would be granted as a necessity.
You think, if the world so chooses to tilt that way in the days, weeks, months to come, you’ll destroy yourself. It would wear on anyone, and if it were to happen that way, you know you’d be incapable of handling it. You would abandon the shimmering protective gemstone that useless, God forsaken stone elemental had given you. Perhaps, in that future, there would be punishment for going against direct orders. Part of you assumes that choice to disobey would lead, inevitably, to death. Maybe in that future, you’d welcome it. So sick of the hand you would have been dealt until then, that the idea of being free fills you with relief.
You think maybe pondering the future is a useless prospect, for it will come regardless, and destroy you in its wake.
Tomorrow, it will all be over.
Tomorrow, you will wake up to a new day and a fresh start, to fluffy white clouds dotting the endless blue sky. The warm summer breeze will be sweeping over the salty ocean, and you will look out your open window, content to be alive at last.
You will sit down at your dining table, and eat a full breakfast, for the first time in a long time. You will greet your mother with a smile, without a trace of annoyance, and thank her for the food she made, because you truly are grateful. Your cat will curl its tail around the table leg, rubbing up against your jeans, purring, and you’ll stroke your hand through its fur, feeling the warmth emitting through its skin.
You’ll go outside and mount your bike, sailing down the cobblestone street in front of your house. The flowers blooming and the wind in your hair, you’ll laugh, because you don’t think that anyone can hear you over the rushing sound by your ears. But they can, and they smile, because it’s you, and you’re laughing. The wheels of your bike don’t go exactly smoothly over the stones, but you don’t mind the jostling. Just adds a little more excitement to your day.
You will arrive down at the beach, by the pier, and you’ll dismount your bicycle like a trusty steed, and slowly walk along the sand, watching the gulls soar through the sky, diving down and snatching a bit of leftover fries on the edge of the street. Eventually you’ll lock your bike in a nearby bike rack and take off your shoes, holding them by your fingers, and run down through the sand to the water, the cold cold water splashing your ankles, your calves, the grainy sand between your toes. Small fish swim about you, biting on your legs, and you grin, staring down at them.
Returning to shore, sand will stick to your wet feet, but that’s okay, since you weren’t wearing socks anyways on this hot summer’s day. But it isn’t even that hot, but rather warm instead, a perfect temperature for basking in a hammock, a book resting on your chest for you to return to when you open your eyes. Perhaps you could go get some ice cream today? Or buy some handmade fudge… You mount your bike again, and ride off once more, the possibilities before you endless.
Tomorrow, you will have a nice day. So please, live on.
And in the future, I will fall in love with you.
Your dim eyes will shine brighter than Polaris as you live each day with an optimism that could liven withering flowers. Everyday will be spring, blooming opportunities that line up each route you choose to take, and you will always be where you are meant to be.
I wish to meet you with lips upturned into a smile, to see you happy when we first meet, different from who you are now. I hope that you are in love with me, I suppose it would be nice to be loved back. The world must be brighter when I'll find you staring back at me.
Maybe I'll see you in one of the local coffee shops, in the reflection of the mug as you pull out an iPad to write out notes, or in the stained lines of a poem in a book. Who knows, life may take me far into the decade before I see you. I could be walking across the park, late for a dinner of some sort when I catch you there, looking at me, being proud of me.
Your heart would be in the right place, though I wouldn't say that you'd always be happy. Satisfied could be the correct term, I feel. It's hard to be satisfied with what you have when everyone seems to have something different that you don't, like a missing piece that isolates you from the world.
And by then, we'd be around the world, well traveled, enjoying the luxury of freedom and loose chains on our hands as we try out the finer things in life, caviar delicacies and golden necklaces. I wouldn't have to look at twenty four carrots and laugh anymore.
I pray to the moon I'll recognize you immediately; we might be different, and if we are, we can't meet yet. I'll do my best to find you as soon as I can possibly make myself. For now, I'll stare in the mirror to find someone else looking back, for you are still absent from my physical gaze, living in the horizon of my imagination, a mirage. By then, I'll be ready to meet you, and love you I will, without any boundary or limitation, guilt or fear. I ask that you spare me time to prepare. I'll see you in a few years, dearest me.
[WC: 400]
Word Count: 494 words
cw: blood, death, and suic1dal thoughts
Her clairvoyance is a putrid curse. No, to be more exact: the future is a curse; a miserable, dingy tunnel with no way out.
Nadia loathes how she can never choose when to glimpse into that tunnel, nor can she influence, in any way, how far into the future she can see. Her visions come with a sting of a bottlesnake—it bites with a snap and its venom seeps into her blood. The images, no matter how stale or violent or bloody, never leave her mind's eye.
Almost every day, since the moment she can dream, she hears the screams of a cursed generation and watches the persecution of hundreds, no, thousands of strangers she may never meet. Anyone can go insane after a hundred of those. Nadia knows that because she’s been through insanity and back, many times; it’s a cycle she can never end.
She once tried to end her suffering, one stormy day three weeks before she turned ten. That day, she glimpses a particular future carved into the walls of her heart. The vision—a nightmare—shows a scene in lime-green pastures splattered with scarlet blood and a raging mob with eyes of burning hate. There, as many fail to run from the guns, pitchforks, and torches, she watches a woman run in front of a child before she crumples to the ground with a bleeding heart.
Young Nadia carves that scene into her mind, memorizing the way the thick, stone-gray clouds gave way to the sun the moment the woman fell. Young, foolish Nadia thought she, too, can end things there. After all, that field was right outside their town; surely, she can go let the mob take her too?
And so, her legs take her there—breathless, eyes gleaming with morbid hope.
The scene, just as she remembered it, unfolds. She is crowded by screams and suffocated by the people running for escape. And there, in the midst of it all, she embraces the chaos, hoping for it to save her from the nightmares.
Young Nadia sees the woman in her dreams. She sees her run. And as clouds give way to sun, Nadia watches the woman jump in front of her as a bullet pierces through her chest.
As she crumples to the ground, so does Nadia.
An eternal second passes. The screams, the mob, the skies, the crowds—they are all shut out. She can’t hear, can’t think, can’t breathe—
But she can see the way the man in front of her kneels behind the woman. She watches as shadows form in his eyes, as if the clouds in the sky had flittered and found their home in them.
And as her deafening heartbeat resounds in her ears, she sees them spark and burn.
Her thoughts flash with startling clarity: My future is set in stone. I can never run away.
The man screams and her world closes in, reaching, piercing, caging her in—
Nadia runs, anyway. She always does.
bright at long last
Word Count: 655
Summary:
Takuto never thought the future would be so kind to him.
Zenkichi leaned over his significant other’s body, planting a tender kiss on Takuto’s cheek unexpectedly.
It made a coat of crimson rush over Takuto’s cheeks, his head snapping away from the television in front of him to retort something. However, his words became stuck as laughter from the other man echoed from the kitchen.
The only words that managed to form were only in Takuto’s head.
‘How did I deserve such a bright home again?’
The aroma of coffee bursted into the living room. Zenkichi brought with him two cups of coffee, which he set on the table in the middle of the living room. He sat down on the couch to Takuto’s left, gently grasping the other man’s hand and tugging him to lay on his side.
Takuto gave a small whine, content on being on his own. But he was unable to resist the warmth beside him for long, as he melted into Zenkichi’s half-embrace. He heard an amused chuckle emerge from Zenkichi.
They stayed in that position as the show in front of them played on. Yet neither of them was exactly paying attention to it. Takuto traced letters and shapes into Zenkichi’s palm, and Zenkicihi attempted to discern what Takuto was writing to him.
It lasted only for a few minutes, although Takuto would comment it was eternity, as Zenkichi released himself to reach for his coffee. He took a sip of it, his gaze beckoning Takuto to take his drink as well.
Takuto blinked. His breathing steadied, knowing the drink was safe. That he was safe to do something as homely and simple as drinking a cup of coffee. There would be no intrusive thoughts that followed, nothing to be anxious over, nothing to stay up at late hours for. It was a mere drink in the morning.
He reached for his cup, and the rim met his lips. The coffee that met his tongue was warm, and toasty. Fragrant, flavorful, and familiar with belonging, reminding Takuto of Leblanc’s brews back in Tokyo. A smile formed as he lowered his cup back onto the table.
“You learned this from Akira-kun, didn’t you?” Takuto glanced towards the other man.
“Well, more like observing the kid make it and teaching myself from there.” Zenkichi laughed, “Glad you like it, Maru.”
Takuto scooted closer, settling back again against Zenkichi’s side.
Zenkichi breathed out with a growing smile, his hand resting on Takuto’s shoulders. “You’re amazing.”
Takuto took in a sharp breath, scrambling mentally to formulate a response. “...I love you.” Was all he managed to say.
Zenkichi responded without pause, “I love you too, Maru.”
Takuto threaded his arms around the other man’s waist and held him there, pressed against his body. His eyes drifted shut. He never was in the present before, as he always somehow found himself lost in the past and terrified about his future. But even though most of his dreams were broken during his recovery long ago, he managed to make new ones from the shattered pieces.
The future looked bright, at long last.
It had been a rough few years trying to recover and accept the passing of their late significant others, and a few hard months after when distance challenged their relationship. But they had made it through, healthy and together. Zenkichi had mended his relationship with his daughter, Akane. Takuto was able to finally focus on himself, and was confident to love again.
Takuto couldn’t ask for more than that—especially after all the times he and Zenkichi had struggled to find a path to being together. Both in reality, and the cognitive world.
Takuto hugged Zenkichi close, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“For you. For us,” Takuto murmured. “Do I need reason more than that?”
Zenkichi shook his head. “Never.”
All he wanted now was to sit with Zenkichi, underneath the sunlight and the stars, talking about life.
Ascend.
Following your mission, a divine endeavor. To climb and reach for greater heights. Even if the whole mission, nay, the whole world was just a game to the two beings that summoned us. I found it vexing, yet exhilerating. A different purpose that could satisfy me more didn't come to mind.
More than once I asked myself if I was put under a spell, just a marionette tied up by strings. The only strings I find myself tied in are the strings of fate, for they were too uncaring to exert power over me. It did not calm down my paranoia, a sure companion on my divine quest.
The other four that went with us, may their blood pierce the future, they are not as interested in the mission. They are more adamant on exploring things for themselves. It reminded me of myself in the past, where I still was bloody and also self-minded. My blood may be gone, and my purpose changed, but that makes things all the better.
I set out for the highest mountain, only to find out there were only hills. We were in the flatlands, the cave ceiling inching on us. Some days I wonder if a huge cave-in was going to happen and we would all be caught up in the tides.
Then, I heard from a passing Klein, before his durasteel made good work of the crystals in this timeline and I had to jump back, of a gaping hole in the ceiling, very close to where we were originally summoned. The mission was clear, to conquer the ceiling above. What lay beyond the ceiling? First I had to find a way to fly.
My first solution was with feathers. Our avian summoned could surely carry me up, provided I bribed it with enough carrots. I went to visit, but it turned me away with one wave of its wings.
So, I considered alternate options.
This mission, it had to be fulfilled. I could not already fail at the planning stage. I had many considerations, but none of them seemed to lead to the solution.
In the end, my avian friend seemed to finish its rest, or whatever it did when it tucked in its head. Sometimes I get the feeling it never actually rested, but was observing, observing a small universe inside the corner of its wings.
It agreed to take me flying, in exchange for a total of a bucket of carrots. I set out to farm carrots en-masse, glad to have my farming skills come in handy. The inhabitants seemed to never eat anything else beyond moss and insects. Carrots were likely indigestible to them, and procuring the land for my operation was another story in itself.
Finally, carrots in hand and bucket, it took me flying. Higher and higher.
Ascend. May the games grind and rust in the blood it spills, fueled by the Ancient still, until every last drop is spilled and we die not knowing our own.