The Prophecy: Part 1

It is late spring, the sun has already set, but the hot, humid air makes you think it's summer. It is not raining outside, but you can hear the claps of thunder and see flashes through the small window that lightens the room in the attic. You sit at the desk, almost in a hypnotic trance, busily typing your story. No, it's more than that. It's your fourth novel, but the first one in five years. At first, you didn't want to go back into writing. The first two books were a success, but that was ten years ago. The last one was not well received. This story will be a masterpiece, you tell yourself. You know it will be. Your reluctance to write again was overpowered by the mysterious and awesome story that just came to you one night, two weeks earlier. It wouldn't let you go. Last week, you turned on the rusty computer in the attic, and haven't stopped typing since.

In a frenzy to get down your thoughts before they escape you, you realize you are typing faster than you have ever before. And longer. Lunch is long gone, dinner as well. It is nearing 9:00 at night and you're starving. 'After this chapter, I'll go find something to eat' you tell yourself. Then you smile, that's what you have been telling yourself all evening. Yet you have moved only to stretch your exhausted fingers. Clap! The sky roars outside. Suddenly aware that the storm is in very close proximity (there was about a second in between the lightning and the thunder), you absently move you’re right hand to the mouse and press SAVE. The computer works nosily for a few seconds, and you take this time to stretch out your neck. You look around, the attic is completely dark except for the eerie glow of the computer and the occasional light from the skies. The computer silences itself once again. You sit back down, re-reading the last passage that you typed, wondering if you should grab a quick bite to eat. Y ou know there's nothing in the fridge. Perhaps an apple, but that wouldn't hold you. Then you come across a missed detail in the last paragraph. You start typing again. CLAP! The lightning is extremely close this time, but you pay no attention to it. As you end your sentence, just before you press the period, another bright light, but this one doesn't flash and go away. With your pinky poised over the period, you freeze. Something's wrong. It's still bright. You turn your head to the small window. It seems like time has just frozen in the middle of the flash. Suddenly, the computer gives a whine, and yellow sparks come out of it. Blue strings of electricity escape from the monitor and keyboard and rushes into your frozen fingers and transverses into your body. That is the last thing you see before it suddenly goes dark.

You open your eyes to hazy light. You realize that you're not sitting anymore, and fear strikes you. You don't think you're in your attic. As your eyes adjust, you grope around, hoping to find something familiar. Your fingers brush against a soft carpet under you. As you regain your vision you think to yourself ‘I don't remember any dusty, green shag carpet in the attic.’ As this thought enters your mind, the realization of what happened with the computer and the storm hits like a brick wall. Lurching into a sitting position, you slam your head into the rock outcropping above you.

"Ouch!" you exclaim angrily, rubbing your smashed nose, "Where'd that rock come from?"