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Back From the Future

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts.

A knock at the door catches you off-guard. Upon answering it, you’re greeted by a man who says he’s from the future—and he can prove it. More important, he says he has information that will save your life.

Post your response (500 words or less) in the comments below.

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3 Responses to Back From the Future

  1. imherslug says:

    Although I just realized, if it were me, that would probably prove that she is from the future, or I’m just hallucinating.

  2. imherslug says:

    Why can’t the person be a woman? Maybe it’s me (a woman) sent from the future to tell myself something

  3. Putting his back to Cara and Trevor, Wes poured an extra spoonful of sugar into this thermos.

    “I saw that, Wes,” said Cara.

    “Saw what, Mom?” Trevor’s swinging feet bumped against the kitchen’s island.

    “Nothing, little man.” Wes capped the thermos. “Finish your cereal or we’re leaving without you.”

    “Oh no.”

    “Trevor,” said Cara and Wes in unison.

    Wes caught his wife’s soft blue eyes and the reprimand for the extra sugar scoop dulled beneath her weary smile. The gleam of something else equally dimmed when down the hallway, knocks thumped on the front door.

    Wes cocked an eyebrow. “You’re expecting company?”

    “Ha. Ha,” said Cara.

    The knocks sounded again, their blows making the pictures lining the wall rattle.

    After a swift exchange of worried glances, Wes set the thermos beside Trevor’s bowl and headed for the door. The peephole revealed a bearded face and a frown accentuated by the grim stranger’s receding hairline. His leather jacket had been zipped, the snug fit highlighting a toned frame. With a pair of sharp blue eyes, he glanced to the driveway and the garage. His jaw firmed, and yanking one of his hands from his pocket, he reached for the knocker again.

    Wes flipped the lock but left the chain in place, opening the door ajar before the stranger’s callus knuckles or the brass landed. “Can I help you?”

    Stuffing his hand into his pocket, the stranger shuffled in his thick-soled boots, his black jeans rustling. “Weston Marshall?”

    “Yes.”

    “I need to speak with you.”

    Wes scowled over the chain. “What are we doing now?”

    “No.” The stranger tipped his head and Wes sensed his gaze lurking into the kitchen where he heard Cara hustling Trevor into his coat. Wes interrupted the line of sight with a side step, bringing the stranger’s attention back to his face. “It’d be better if we could speak alone.”

    “Who is it, Wes?”

    “Please.” The stranger’s furrows deepened and his body tensed. “It’s important.”

    Despite the extra half-foot and thirty pounds, the rigidity in the stranger felt more like panic than a threat. Something in the stance, his blue eyes, or the softly spoken request snared a sense of empathy inside Wes’ being. He spoke over his shoulder without shifting his gaze.

    “I’m just stepping out for a second, Cara.”

    “You’re going to make us late.”

    “Hooray,” shouted Trevor.

    “It’s just for a second, little man.” Slipping across the threshold, Wes closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms, making his tie and dress shirt crinkle. “You have two minutes.”

    “Time is inconsequential.”

    Wes bristled. “Names aren’t. How do you know who I am?”

    The stranger opened his mouth but the first reply seemed to get lost in his beard. Like a fish seeking air, his lips flapped. “My name is We…Webber and I’m a family friend.”

    “Well, We-ebber, what do you want?”

    “I need to show you something.”

    Wes held out his hand.

    … Click here to read the rest and feel free to leave a comment.

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