A Newspaper From the Future

You are walking to your car when you pass a boy selling newspapers on the street. He doesn’t look like he’s getting any customers, so you buy a copy, only to discover that it’s dated a week from today. And one particular story makes you realize you need to take action—now.

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298 thoughts on “A Newspaper From the Future

  1. bilbobaggins321

    Even though people had warned me of driving myself into the ground too early, I had never really recognized it as a threat. Death was still distant, in my old age, not looking for me now with his scythe.
    That is, until that fateful Thursday, when I realized just how fragile life can be.

    I was 26, young for sure, thought I was wise, a businessman with a condo, and my own car. I was a living success in stocks. My brokers worshipped me. And then it all came crashing down like a house of cards, like it inevitably had to do. And it all started with the scraggly boy on the left curb.

    He was around half my age, apparently making a living for himself and who knows who else selling newspapers. I usually passed him by on the opposite side of the street, Starbucks in hand and the New York Times in the other. In some black hat of round shape and a grey coat, coupled with a red-striped scarf, he would sit at the entrance of an alley, hawking his papers. I hadn’t even seen one person buy anything from him yet, and wondered how he could afford to do this all day with no income.

    Right after I passed 4th street, he somehow met my eye from a block away.
    “Newspapers! Newspapers! Anybody need one? Just 50 cents!”
    The other people just swiveled around him, briefcases in hand, not even willing to look towards him, perhaps fearing that some pang of remorse would come, and they would partake of their hard-earned cash.

    My feet clip-clopped on the pavement, and I nonchalantly took a hot sip of the mocha, but I could still feel his blue eyes burrowing into my soul. The yards rushed by in long, professional strides, and I was intent on going past him, this intruder of my privacy.
    “Hey, you! Come here, if you want to live past tomorrow!”
    The remark shocked me, and, to save face, I pretended that I hadn’t heard him, that he was just mad, to my colleagues swirling around me. I shot an angry look towards him. According to the Rolex, I had at least four minutes to chew out the youngster before I needed to be in the elevator. Looking for any taxis, I ran across the crosswalk. I reached him, seeing him more closer for the first time.

    “Look, bud, shut up with these hasty prophecies. I-”
    He held up his hand, trying to apologize, to be nice and land a sale.
    “Mister, it’s all true. This article here says that you do, indeed, die tomorrow.”
    He threw a Times towards me, and I curiously caught it. On seeing the front cover, I slapped it down, about ready to call police on this young trickster. If it would work, he would probably juggle five chainsaws at once just so he could have a Lincoln in the weird hat.

    “I already have a New York Times. Nice try, but this paper I just read has nothing in it about me dying. Go bug someone else to buy it for you.”
    He had already prepared a defense.
    “Yeah, well, look at the date on the front compared to yours.”
    Hastily, I checked my watch, groaned, and looked at the one he had given me. It dated January 5, 2014, a whole week from now. Mine said the 30st, which was today.
    “Oh, that’s something called a typo,” I said in thick sarcasm. “And it looks like your whole miserable stack has the typo in it. Tell your supplier to recall them, and get out of here.”

    He appeared unchanged by my scathing rebuttal, still staring at me. He gestured at the paper.
    “The date is off, but so are the front articles.”
    I was startled when I saw that the front articles were, indeed, different. My mind was changed just a little in that fly-by moment.
    “Where’s the article that talks about my death?” I hurriedly asked him, sipping my coffee again.
    “Obituaries, second row, third from left,” he announced placidly.

    My fingers stormed ahead to that section, my eyes rapidly scanning down the ink. A subtle gasp escaped my lips. I looked up at him again, still staring, and I glared at him, and he looked away finally. I read through the whole thing, quite amazed that no one had bothered to report this yet.

    “Richard Gray, age 26, was struck by a taxi on the 1st of January, 2014. The night before, he was reported to have been drinking heavily at the nearest bar, and six minutes after midnight left. Ten minutes after that, taxi driver Harold Riechen was driving around the SoHo area when suddenly Gray’s car jumped the lane divider and collided into it. Both drivers were killed instantly, the windshield shattering. Gray is known to have been a well-established businessman, bachelor, and stocks associate on Wall Street. Currently, the Riechen family is threatening to sue the police for not properly monitoring the bars on this holiday.”

    My eyes were wide open. How could this be? I was torn as to whether to believe this paper or not. For just a second, I almost did. I stared back at the kid. Did he run some illegal printing press operation that tried to pass itself off as the real Times? The paper in my hand sure looked like the genuine article. Was I really going to die? But, alas, my pride of life blinded me at this critical moment.

    I handed the paper back to him, and he looked at me with sadness.
    “Tell your pals to send a notice to the Times office that they need to retract that obituary. I am obviously alive, and not dead. I am too busy doing important things to correct their lousy mistakes.”
    The kid retrieved the paper from me. His eyes spelt desperation, but I refused to listen to them.
    I turned on my heel. “Have a good day.” I threw a dollar onto the pavement from my wallet. I watched with a certain kind of satisfaction as he leapt for it, the look of joy on his face.
    “Maybe that will be enough to save him from selling crackpot papers,” I mused.

    My feet crossed the walk again, right on time for work. My heels clapped on the marble steps of the office building, the familiar regimen of checking in, smiling to the receptionist, the elevator, pushing buttons, flashed by, all so familiar to me. I sat down at his desk, peering out the window as he finished his coffee in the few minutes before his clients began pouring in. Far down below, I could see the kid down there still, now talking to some yellow taxi with the passenger window down. I witnessed the scene, amused, as the taxi flew away, the kid settling back with the same look amongst his papers.

    I heard my door click behind me, and I automatically switched back into business, serious mode, two stout men that I had been introduced to earlier lumbering into the soft seats in front of the hickory desk. My arms confidently spread before me on my pad and planner, I felt a surge of pride, and then felt it dim. I remembered the youngster, how he had rejoiced with the small amount of money. The rest of the day unusually slipped by, not crisp, the next like a fleeting memory. I never saw that little boy again.

    ___________________________________________________________________

    The doctors say that it was incredible, even miraculous. I can hardly believe that. Four days without work is hardly my cup of tea. But they insist on rejoicing, and I have to say that I did so as well. I had cheated the old reaper to grace the streets of earth another day.

    The official report was a car collision, sixteen minutes after midnight, January 1st. Oddly enough, my car hit a yellow taxi because I jumped the lane divider, just as the paper said. The driver had no ID on, and the body in the taxi was so mangled there was no hope of identifying him, but I had a hunch who it was.

    All I got physically out of the accident was a totaled car, three cracked ribs, and a complete fracture in my right leg. I also got a pretty bad concussion, which left me in a hospital gurney for three of the most miserable days of my life, tumbling in an out of dreams like some sadistic Chutes and Ladders game. But the doctors all said that it could have been worse. Just five inches in the wrong direction and I could have been killed instantly. It was that close, they say, looking incredulously at x-rays and charts.

    When I returned to work the next week, the kid with the papers was mysteriously gone. I wish with all of my heart that I could have thanked him for telling me, even when I didn’t listen to him. The weeks went by, and eventually I had it. I quit my job, moved to the West Coast, and started up a charity for orphans, writing short stories in the meanwhile. This is one of my first, an autobiography of sorts. I know it needs some work, but it is very special to me, for it changed my entire life.

    And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: If a poor little boy asks for money in exchange for saving you from death somehow, give him five hundred bucks, take him home, and then give him another hundred, just to be safe. It’s worth it.

    1. bilbobaggins321

      In the second paragraph before the dash, sentence 3 should be this instead: “I say down at my desk, peering out the window as I finished my coffee in the few minutes before my clients came pouring in.”

  2. oceans-between

    I stepped out of the bakery in the wispy wind accompanied by mid-November sunshine. The forecast called for prospects of snowflakes and showers but the morning’s rays indicated a clear day.
    I sipped my coffee as I reached for the donut in my bag. I retrieved the chocolatey creamy goodness and took a big, indulging bite. The young boy at the corner had been eyeing me as I walked toward him and the parking lot my car was in.

    “Wanna newspaper?” He asked casually. His eyes were on me but appeared distant, as if he were staring through me. He was expressionless, slumped in front of the hardware store.

    I tossed him a few bills and grabbed one off the top of the high stack. Not a very profitable day, it seemed.
    He collected the dollars and stuffed them in his pockets. “Thanks.”

    I unlocked the door and sat down, tossing the paper on the seat with the bakery bag as I started off to the office. As I pulled into the lot of the news-prints building, a few peculiar thoughts ran across my mind that I hadn’t considered. I found it odd that I had a bought a newspaper, knowing I could get a free copy from work. I was also puzzled as to how the boy had gotten any copies, seeing as though they were to be printed and shipped today for sale tomorrow.
    I snatched up the paper and flipped through it, skeptically scanning the articles. Right away, I noticed a strange flaw. The date at the top was Nov. 10, a week from tomorrow. Several stories, like the coffee shop’s grand opening and the bakery’s 100th anniversary, had not even happened, let alone written about and printed! One snippet even talked about the inches of snow we’d received from the past week, but the ground was completely clean!
    My eyes moved down the paper uneasily, widening when I came across the bold ink letter at the bottom of the second page; “WEEKLY PRINTING PRESS ACCUSED AND CHARGED WITH FRAUD” I was outraged.
    I immediately stormed inside and into my boss’s office, slamming down the street-bought, fake newspaper.

    “Mr. Barkley! We’re being accused of fraud!” I shouted, confused.

    Mr. Barkley turned his chair around slowly and set his eyes on me. “Who said that?”

    I sat up and pointed out the window, looking for the boy selling papers. “That boy over,” I stumbled, but he was nowhere in sight.

    “Mr. Kramer, do you know what kind of reputation we are to uphold?” He focused his eyes on me. “I can’t have you talking like that. What if someone believes you?”

    “But sir!”

    “Go on, to work. I’m sure we would all appreciate it. Maybe we can talk about this some other time?”

    I nodded. “Right, some other time, sure.” And I stood up to exit the office, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tiny little snowflake fall and land on the window sill.

  3. DaniPhantom

    “Alright, same time next week?” I ask laughing as I give my friend Stephanie a hug and wave to the rest of our “Breakfast Club”.
    “Sure thing babe, see you then!” and she walks away.
    I had showed up late today and all the street-side parking was taken so I walked alone to the parking lot in back. Just before the entrance I saw a young boy selling papers, and he seemed odd to me; out of place. Maybe it was the newsboy cap and clothing pulled straight from the 1920’s, perhaps the almost comatose expression on his face. Whatever it was, my attention was certainly captured and I slowed as I passed. The boy’s newspaper stack was pretty high; it didn’t seem to be a good sales day for him. I dug in my pocket for the breakfast change and handed him four quarters for two papers. He handed me the two papers with the same expression and I hurriedly stuffed them under my arm, a little disturbed at this point. By the time I was driving out of the parking lot I had other things on my mind so I barely noticed that in the short time the boy and his stack of papers had gone as if they’d never been there at all.
    My first client wasn’t scheduled for another hour so when I got to my studio I set up the cameras, put on some coffee and relaxed. I only had three photo shoots for the day and had told my assistant to take the day off. As I sat my mind wandered back to the newsboy and I went to grab the papers I had bought. I didn’t enjoy reading the paper, working for a large paper for seven years has a way of turning one off from reading the lies they print, but I poured myself a coffee and settled in with the paper.
    I almost laughed when I saw the date misprinted as next Thursday’s. What kind of editor lets something like that go unnoticed? Shaking my head I glanced at the political headlines; it didn’t matter how much time I had, I wasn’t going to submit myself to that biased slander. I did catch that one of the headlines boasted results from a debate that was scheduled for next Wednesday, and that coupled with the misprinted date and the oddness of the newsboy had me feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I sat up a little straighter as I saw the headline on the second page, “Local entertainer Stephanie Markath still at large” and I began to feel a sick churning in my gut as I kept reading. According to this article Stephanie the woman I thought I knew so well was wanted for the murder of myself and three others whose names were unfamiliar to me in a restaurant downtown this evening.
    I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was no way this could be real, but the cold sense of dread wouldn’t leave my gut. I don’t know how long I sat there, holding the paper limply, gazing off into nothing. The buzz and familiar ring from my cell brought me out of my trance and feeling as if I would lose my breakfast I opened the text:
    From: Steph M.
    Sent: 9:18 am
    Message: Hey hot stuff, wanna meet up for some dinner tonite?

  4. area4hg2

    The Article
    I was walking to my car to see a boy selling news papers he didn’t seem to have any customers so I decided to buy one. I notice it is dated one week in the future, one article in particular makes me realise I have to take action Now!

    WOWZA! A stock market crash? Arding Stock Markets? NO WAY! I quickly skim through the rest of the article. Apparently an anonymous source from Arding Stock Markets “leaked” a snippet of information saying there were some shady characters in ASM that should be investigated, no police to be involved and so the journalist sneaked into the ASM main office, searching for proof, evidence, anything and what he found was bad. Beyond bad, the heads of ASM knew that there was to be a crash and had been hoarding all the money that had come in for weeks now and as soon as the scales tipped for a crash the heads would slip off the charts and disappear to their newly bought “private islands”. The reporter was frantic and rushed to the old publishing room in the dingy newspapers office but by the time the article was written and the paper published, it was too late. Too late?
    How? After all that, could he be too late?
    WAIT! Hold on. Wasn’t this paper one week in the future?
    The article says the crash was estimated to occur on the 7th of September today was only the 31st of august. There was still time! In a flash my phone is in my hand, my fingers texting up a whirlwind of words to my friends, family, old high school colleagues. There were so many to contact. I had to post it and paste it all over the internet. I jumped onto my moped and revved off home to spend an hour or five on the computer.
    Over the next few days my messages received many different types off replies, some friendly and thankful others… not so much. For example one of the non supportive but not so rude (swear wordy) replies was…. “What on earth is wrong with you? A stock market crash? Arding stock markets? NO WAY!

    written by 13 yr old

  5. DcTTre

    I went back to the boy and noticed he had a micro-chip in his neck, so I took A picture of it with my iPhone 5. Then suddenly I saw about 4 more kids selling newspapers that were dated 1 week ahead.

    Soon enough there were about 25 of them, and they all had micro-chips in their neck. Suddenly a smalll boy came out of of a small building with a big boombox, and starts to play loud crazy Party Rock Music. All the kids started to surround me and they all started to dance to the music all with the same moves, I looked at the article again and it said flash mob alert practice.

    After 5 minutes they all stopped dancing and ran away. Boom!!! I saw a BIG explosion, I ran Around the corner and all the chips on there necks had exploded. All the smoke from the explosin had formed a shape. It truns out that this was the the mobs practice that was said last week on the newspaper

    The name of the group was called the Extreme Jumpers. After that the little kid walked off silently like a ninja.

  6. reubixcube

    So there I was walking to my car when i noticed a boy selling newspapers. It looked like he had no customers so i went to buy one only to realize the date was dated one week ahead of todays date. One article caught my eye and I knew I had to act quickly.

    As I was driving I thought to myself “How could they possibly do this!?” I was thinking of something cold and harsh to say to the person who decided to make this happen feel dreadful. I could hear up above the repetitive sounds of construction – huge bulldozers revving up the driveway, cranes towering over the building. I had to act fast if I wanted to keep the smiles on the innocent kid’s faces.

    I sped down the lonely roads until i had reached my destination. I parked and quickly hopped out of the car. As I marched up the aisle , I went straigtht to the emotionless man at the counter.
    “Hello, how can…” The man started.
    “Let me sign the paper!” The man shuffled uneasily then went away to grab the paper. He came back with a long list of names and signatures, the top read “3000 signature petition to stop McDonald’s closing.” I grabbed a pen and quickly signed the piece of paper. It now had 3000 signatures.

    I sighed with relief, I had just saved McDonalds from being crushed like an ant. As I drove home, I looked over my shoulder to where the boy was selling papers and realized he was gone. No trace of his existence was left. It had been one week since I saved McDonalds and as I read the paper, I noticed it was one week ahead, an article caught my eye and I knew I had to act quickly. They were bringing down KFC. ☺☻

  7. laurentravian

    I pushed open my office building doors, and sipped my coffee.
    Billy was there, with his huge stack of newspapers. I sighed. Such a ham. He had an old fashioned newspaper cap, and a hopeful expression, like he needed the money BAD. The things that kid would do for extra credit in Drama. I walked over, as it began to rain. “Real or fake?” He smiled a gap-toothed grin up at me. “Real, Mrs. Vaughan. Class paper.” I smiled and paid him our agreed price, $10 per paper if real, free if fake and he would put up a hidden camera so I could watch my co-workers go crazy. I carried the paper home, and opened it up as it began to thunder. Ï was stunned. “Billy!” I hissed. The headline was, “Successful Lawyer leaves office to move to Ireland and become a druid” The paper was dated a week from today. Suddenly, my husband opened the front door. “Hello! May I see the paper?” He asked, planting a kiss on my cheek. He glanced at the headline and started laughing. “So you’ve found out my little secret! Yes, we are moving to Ireland, to get a job as druid performers!” I felt my left eye start to twitch. I loved Ireland, but I did not want to leave my successful law firm (I was on the cusp of Partner!!) to go become a druid. I did not want to run around in nothing but a robe in bare feet shrieking whatever druids shriek. “You spoiled the surprise! I was going to get the tickets to Ireland tomorrow!” I froze. “Non-refundable, one way tickets?” “Yes.” He nodded, merry and expecting joy. I took a shaky breath. “Lyle, I do not want to become a druid. I am about to be made partner, and I have no wish to go gallivanting about wearing nothing but a robe and a garland in my hair.” Lyle’s face immediately turned into his patented I’m-so-sorry-I-had-no-idea-so-can-you-please-do-it look that made my mother give her blessing to our marriage. 20 years later, we were almost on top of our anniversary and I had turned it down. His face instantly contorted with rage. As his hands found my neck, I glanced at the paper again. The new headline was, “Husband Strangles Wife in Petty Rage.” Crud.

  8. JohnBethlehem

    I hadn’t thought about The Varsity Theatre since my brother died a few years back. The two of us would spend summers working there with our father, who owned it, before it was burned down in ‘62. I recall most vividly the mornings just before work, dad buyin us Moon Pies over at Stubblefield Drug Store. Walking out, he would always purchase a newspaper from the little boy on the corner.

    Murray square is not the booming market it once was; my son found that out the hard way after opening The Bull Pen in 2007. It’s been here for five years but closed for four. The buildings on Murray Square act as storage for the most part. Much of it being city storage; once every few years cleaners will come through to organize and surplus items. I came today to pick up papers to fax to my son.

    Returning to my car, I noticed a little boy holding a bag of newspapers, standing on the corner. We locked eyes as I walked by but said nothing. No one had sold newspapers on these streets since I was a kid.

    “You selling papers?” I asked, approaching my vehicle.

    “Getting any business?” No response.

    I shrugged my shoulders and got in the car. I’m not one who is easily frightened but it was a little disturbing that the child was no longer at the corner but at my side window. He held out a folded Ledger and tapped the glass.
    “No thank you.” I said cracking my window. He slid it through, for his response, onto my lap. When I looked back up he was turning down the alley adjacent Rudy’s Family Restaurant (also closed). I got out of the car thinking I would follow but stayed put.

    My father ingrained into me to read the date first; no point in following old news. I wasn’t too thrown off by the fact that it was dated a week from now, with technology, you could fake anything. I was more so taken aback by what couldn’t be made up. The top story featured two pictures, one was a generic male figure, blacked out to show anonymity; the other was a picture of my brother whom I mentioned earlier. Even more unsettling was the headline; 50 Year Case Closed; Murder at the Varsity. Below the pictures, “In a journal discovered in cleanup above The Bull Pen, former Varsity owner’s son, William Warren, confesses to fire that killed 231 in November 1962. Accomplice being investigated.”

    The supernatural paper’s authenticity was not in question. No one could have known about that fire. Had I known he wrote it down in a journal, it would not be sitting God knows where above an abandoned restaurant. My guess is, it’s a warning to prepare.

    On the other hand, I made my peace with God a long time ago. I walked to the restaurant and thought to myself, “Maybe its best the past remain in the ashes.”

  9. Jessica

    I woke up to a knock on my door. When i opened it there was a young man about 12 or 13 standing there with newspapers. “Hello ma’am. I found a second newspaper in my driveway and saw you didn’t have one so i thought i’d give you this one.” The bag around it was blue even though his was yellow. “Thank you.I’ll go read it now.” I said with a smile. I pulled the newspaper out of the bag and layed it down on the kitchen table so i could get myself a bagel. Sat down wit the bagel and newspaper and started reading.
    I was looking at one page and noticed a title of an article. It read ’56 YEAR OLD ANGIE RAPPER DIED IN A CAR CRASH’. I was horrified so i quickly called my mother. “Hello?” “Hi mom. Just calling to see if you’re okay.” “Yeah, I’m fine. Hey i got to go i have to cook breakfast for your father.” “Okay. Bye mom.” I looked at the date of the paper and it said AUGUST 8, 2012. “That’s one week from today. I’m confused.”
    I read the whole thing. It said ’56 year old Angie Rapper, mother of Jessica Rapper and wife of Chris Rapper, died of a car crash yesterday, August 7, 2012. The crash happened at 6:42 p.m. Chris Rapper, in the drivers seat, crashed into another car who’s driver was drunk. Chris was injured with a broken arm and rib contusion, the drunk driver was injured and has brain damage and Angie chest was bleeding from a pen she was using to write when she suddenly fell asleep. By the time she reached the hospital she was dead.” “Oh no! I need to call mom and tell her not to leave then.” I picked up the phone and dialed my mother’s number again.
    “Hello?” “Mom, it’s a long story you might not believe but on August 7 don’t leave the house at 6:42. you will get into a car crash and you will die. Dad will have a broken arm and a rib contusion and the drunk driver with suffer from brain damage. Please mom, don’t leave because I love you and i don’t want you to die.” “Okayyy…. Jessie, are you okay?” “Yes mom. Just don’t leave the house and you’ll see. Bye.” “Bye.” I hung up and waited. When the days piled up to August 7 i called mom again to remind her. She said okay and hung up.
    All day i watched the news and sweated because i was so nervous. When the time was 6:42 i called my mom again. She didn’t pick up. I freaked out and got in my car and started to drive to her house. As i drove on a back-road i saw a car with their lights on bright. A drunk driver crashed into me. Last thing i saw before i died was two men in the back of an ambulance saying I’ll be fine and we’re almost to the hospital. I closed my eyes and drifted off into that never ending sleep.
    _________________________________________________________________________________________
    This is my first story on here and i hope you guys like it.believe it or not but I’m 11 almost 12 but this story takes place when i am 27.

  10. aishazoe

    Hi all! This is my first post. Looking forward to reading and writing with you all!

    The polyester lining of Yollie’s skirt bunched up between her thighs. Emerging from the metro escalators, she slowed down her pace so others could pass. Looking around, the only one there was a Street Sense vendor fanning himself. Yollie pulled at her skirt trying to look like she was ironing out wrinkles and not yanking fabric from her crotch.

    As she approached the vendor, she noticed something was off. He didn’t usually sport a dark bruise on his left cheekbone. The puffiness around his lips was also alarming.

    “Good…” she hesitated. He just got beaten up. What was so good about this morning? “Hi, Juhh…”

    “Jason.”

    “Hi, Jason. It’s really humid this morning, huh?” she peered closer at his bruises. Jason pulled back and looked at her askance with his left eye.

    “Sure. I seen plenty of folks walking up with big wet armpits and clingy skirts,” he chuckled.

    Yollie took half a step back. “Yeah, I guess. Paper, please?”

    “That paper there is real special.” Jason winked his good eye. Yollie quickly turned on her heel and stashed the paper in her ten-pound bag.

    She glanced back to see Jason getting into an argument with another vendor. Something about the wrong issue. She looked down at her paper and shrugged her shoulders.

    No big deal about that. More corruption means it must be Tuesday.

    Slowing down she realized the error. It was Thursday, not Tuesday. It must have been an old paper.

    In her office, Yollie shut the door behind her and dropped her bag with a thud. She cooled off her thighs on the AC unit.

    At least I don’t have to do a handstand. One less embarrassment. She sighed and smiled. When her thighs finally dried, she decided to relish the quiet office. She went out to reception to pick up the Post, which had the correct date on it.

    There was more corruption with the mayoral race. The investigators were now following a lead into certain PACs who put up heinous ads for the opponent to make the mayor look good. It was a twisted logic.

    At least our PAR is out of it. They had endorsed the incumbent.

    After perusing the Metro, Politics and Business sections, it was time to get to work. As Yollie emptied her bag, the Street Sense paper fell out. The headline story wasn’t old. She looked at the dateline. Coldness washed over. She leaned back into her chair. It gave way beneath her and ricocheted into the wall. She crashed into the hardwood.

    Someone rushed in. “Are you okay?”

    “I won’t be.”

  11. assaultymcnulty

    “Okay babe, I’ll pick you up at the ferry, Saturday night, about six o’clock” I said with excitement before ending the call.
    It must have been the look in his eyes, the desperation perhaps. Either way there was something familiar about him. As I looked him over I couldn’t recall ever seeing a paper boy at this corner. Right next to the west wing parking garage, where I’ve parked my car for the past twenty six years and even though I was pressed for time…I stopped.
    “Why are you so surprised? Printed media is obsolete.” I said matter of factly, as I pointed toward the pile of untouched papers that were stacked up beside him. He didn’t blink, but kept his eyes on me with a staunch glare. He extended his hand with the daily paper in his clutch.
    “I admire your effort but if you wanna sell that useless pile of trees, you have to be more excited.” I said attempting to lighten his dismal attitude. He remained speechless. I took two bucks from my clip and forked it over.
    “Ah what the hell you remind me of my nephew.” I said taking the paper from his tight clutch. No wonder he wasn’t selling any with a kung-fu grip like that.
    He stepped back expressionless.
    “I don’t suppose that will put you through college, but a thank you would suffice.” I said jokingly. The boy continued to glare at me with dark pathos in his eyes, so deep that for a moment, I feared he’d see my soul. I turned away as an immeasurable sadness suddenly overwhelmed me and when I turned back, the boy was gone. I checked all over the place including the Bus stop and Harry’s Dining car but there was no sign of him.
    “Hey kid!” I shouted into the thin air. My only solace was the daily paper I had in my hand.
    It wasn’t until I got to my car that I noticed the date on the front page of the paper. I took out my cellphone and checked the date, even though I’d seen it nearly a hundred times that day. It just didn’t make sense and when I read the Sports section headline on the back page, my blood ran cold. The Patriots defeated the Dolphins 34-16 in a game that I held season tickets to, a game that wasn’t supposed to take place until the following Sunday.
    “How the hell can this be?”
    My mind began to race and a spine tingling chill crawled up my back, my arms and fingers tingled until they went numb because at that moment I knew why I was holding this paper. I finally broke the paralyzing fright and tore open the pages rifling to the obituaries where I found my name. Douglas E. Stinehauser 56, CEO, of Stine corp. passed away from injuries sustained in an armed robbery. His body was discovered last Saturday night at his vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard.

  12. destinyalready

    Stonachy was walking towards his car when he saw a little boy trying to unsuccessfully sell newspapers. People hurried pass him as they went about their businesses. Some shoved pass him as he hurled and twirled to maneuver himself out of the passersby’s way. Feeling sorry for the kid, Stonachy extracted a five dollar bill and gave it to the boy, flashing away the change. He took the bill and smiled gratefully. Stonachy surveyed the front page of the paper and noticed that there was a man that looked awfully familiar to him. He had an afro, same facial structure and then he realized to his dismay that the man on the front of the paper was him! Underneath the picture read Man Wanted for Armed Robbery. He hurried inside his car and sat in the driver’s seat. He noticed immediately that the date was a week later into the future. He glanced at the kid; he was still trying to sell papers. The kid was completely unaware that Stonachy had just noticed something concerning the newspaper that he’d sold to him. Stonachy put the car in the ignition and drove off to his house and closed the door. He suddenly felt as if someone was chasing him. His grandmother told him about newspapers like these. He wondered if she were right. A newspaper that when you looked at it, it would tell you a noteworthy thing that would happen to you or someone else you knew. He never believed any of his grandmother’s tales of prophesying newspapers. She had died feeling like her son did not believe anything that she said to him. Stonachy knew very well that there was in no way form or shape that he was going to rob a bank. He was a successful single businessman that had a decent income, loved his work and had no problem living alone. Just then there was a loud thud and his apartment door tumbled down with a crash. Two large male in suits entered each aiming an M16 weapon at him, “If you want to live you listen now,” grunted one of the males, “You’re going to get me one billion dollars and if you don’t get it in a week your mom, sister and everyone you care about will die.”
    Stonachy came to the conclusion that he was going to be set up or framed as someone who robbed a bank, in a week from now.

    1. assaultymcnulty

      Interesting. Good imagination. I would suggest using more dialogue to tell the story. “Show don’t tell” otherwise great imagination.

  13. destinyalready

    Stonachy was walking towards his car when he saw a little boy trying to unsuccessfully sell newspapers. People hurried pass him as they went about their businesses. Some shoved pass him as he hurled and twirled to maneuver himself out of the passersby’s way. Feeling sorry for the kid, Stonachy extracted a five dollar bill and gave it to the boy, flashing away the change. He took the bill and smiled gratefully. Stonachy surveyed the front page of the paper and noticed that there was a man that looked awfully familiar to him. He had an Afro, same facial structure and then he realized to his dismay that the man on the front of the paper was him! Underneath the picture read Man Wanted for Armed Robbery. He hurried inside his car and sat in the driver’s seat. He noticed immediately that the date was a week later into the future. He glanced at the kid; he was still trying to sell papers completely unaware that Stonachy had noticed something concerning the newspaper. But he couldn’t brush aside the fact that the man on the front page was him! He looked around for the kid, but he seemed to have disappeared. He put the car in the ignition and drove off to his house and closed the door. He suddenly felt as if someone was chasing him. His grandmother told him about newspapers like these. He wondered if she were right. A newspaper that when you looked at it, it would tell you a noteworthy thing that would happen to you or someone else you knew. He never believed any of his grandmother’s tales of prophesying newspapers. Stonachy knew very well that there was in no way form or shape that he was going to rob a bank. He was a successful single businessman that had a decent income, loved his work and had no problem living alone. Just then there was a loud thud and his apartment door tumbled down with a crash. Two large male in suits entered each aiming an M16 weapon at him, “If you want to live you listen now,” grunted one of the males, “You’re going to get me one billion dollars and if you don’t get it in a week your mom, sister and everyone you care about will die.”
    Stonachy came to a conclusion that he was probably going to be set up or framed as someone who robbed a bank, in a week from now.

  14. Mimi828

    In spite of the lack of economic wording, misspellings and gramatical errors, the creativity was pretty good. Also, I felt the ending sort of left the reader hanging and a bit confused, at least from my perspective.

  15. The Wired Journal

    “Extra, Extra, Read all about It. Extra, extra” the boy was shouting as I approached the corner where he was standing. It was a sunny, but rather cool for late June. It was midday; there were people everywhere strolling here and there, many just passing him by. His shouts seemed to fall on deaf ears. He in return ignored the crowd and continued shouting his sales pitch and waving a news paper above his head. I didn’t have the heart to pass by without stopping and buying one of his news papers. With a sad look in his eyes and a nervous smile he pocketed the money, folded the paper, then handed it to me and thanked me.
    Once safely on the opposite side of the busy intersection of Park and Tremont Street I unfolded the paper and continued strolling down Park street to my car parked just a couple blocks away. Assuming it a typo I Ignored the papers date of the following week, and began scanning the headlines.
    ‘Update: Local man dies from injuries sustained after saving child’s life, from speeding traffic on Park Street last week.’
    I wasn’t aware of this incident he thought and continued strolling and scanning the papers headlines.
    ‘Latest polls show mayor holds favorable lead among voters.’
    ‘City council member commits suicide after arrested in major drug bust.’
    Startled suddenly by what I can only describe as a hysterical blood curdling scream that came from a women just a few doors up the street “O My God NO. My baby” I looked up from the paper. I watched in horror as a man ran into the street and push the child out of the way of a speeding car. The loud muffled thud sound was followed by the sound of breaking glass as he rolled up over the hood and into the windshield, and screeching tires, then a loud crash as the speeding car impacted and crashed into another car coming from the opposite direction.
    An hour later after giving my statement to the police, I continued on to my car still sickened and horrified by what I had just witnessed. But it was not until I read the next headline… ‘Family of four dies in tragic overnight house fire’ and looked at the photos of my home engulfed in flames that I felt A sudden intense burning sensation all over my body and an overwhelming feeling of fear, and terror. The anxiety and fear grew more and more intense with every step I took. The photos made me cringe and I felt an intensely painful knot in my stomach. A sudden shortness of breath overcame me and it became hard to breath. I could not believe what my eyes were seeing. This can’t be happening I thought O dear God. No; please don’t let this be happening. I feel to my knees sobbing uncontrollably begging god. No please; please don’t let this be happening. This can’t be.

    1. MCKEVIN

      I liked it. I love it when the writers here write a piece that puts the reader right there with character and experience the situation too. The only thing I would change is ” Family of four dies in tragic overnight house fire.” to ” Woman dies in Tremont streeet fire.” Other than that, I liked it lot. Good job.

      1. The Wired Journal

        Thanks MCKEVIN,
        Glad you enjoyed it, I love this site, the stimuli I get, reading the stories and comments. this was just a quick first draft and was not revised I agree with you the ending could have been much better is the time and effort was put into it.

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