So I have discovered that Writer's Digest does a weekly writing prompt and I am going to designate Saturday's as the day I will post the weekly prompt and what I have come up with. I feel that this is a great way to offer people a free example of my writing and, hopefully, help build a solid fan base, and get people to buy the books I have put a lot of work into. This will be the first week's post from their prompt. Here is the prompt:
At exactly midnight on New Year’s Eve you receive an email labeled “Open Immediately.” The really strange thing is that the email is apparently from your future self. What does it say?
And here is the story I have come up with (had to be 500 words or less, mine was right at 500). Enjoy:
I’m sitting on a cold toilet seat, hastily putting together a comedic tweet about how ironic the night had become.
The bass from the booming techno mix is still reverberating through my core even in the restroom, but no longer shaking lose my insides. It was midnight and I had abandoned my date on the dance floor to rush to the toilet before my poorly planned, all-you-can-eat sushi made a hasty exit. As I am formulating my tweet, my phone alerts in my hand. It is an email, marked “OPEN IMMEDIATELY.” I can hear the shouts and hollers as the magic moment hits. My date is most likely looking for me, or perhaps locking lips with the hipster enginerd that had been trying to move in on her while we were dancing. But instead of wiping myself clean and rushing back to the dance floor, I open the email, because it is addressed from “me,” well, from my GMAIL account at least.
Dear Me, You, Us,
Hey douchebag (and I mean that in the strongest sense because you are one right now, stop hash tagging everything, it’s not hip, it’s stupid). Let me give you some quick specifics that only we, you and I, would know so you take this email serious. One: only we know the real reason you had to rush out in the middle of the night and buy a new keyboard for your parent’s computer when we were sixteen and you ditched your shame in a dumpster behind the store. And two: your anus is currently burning from all the wasabi you ate just a few hours prior.
I sit frozen, wanting to wipe away thus specified burning sensation, but afraid to because doing so would confirm that somehow I have emailed myself. So, instead, I continue reading.
I am writing you from GOOGLE’s beta program TIMEMAIL. I know, pretty lame name, but we didn’t come up with it. We did help write the code for the program, and I shouldn’t have to explain how well it works. If you are reading this email, then I have successfully sent you a message from twenty years in the future. What I am about to say will change all of this, and everything else. That hipster who was moving in on your date, well, the way the night would have unfolded, you two are about to become best friends. He’s a bit of a genius. You two come up with the idea of TIMEMAIL and his tinkering is what gets the program to work. Bestselling APP ever, but it’s only been sold to the ultra-rich, ultra powerful, and they are using it to become even more well off. You need to kill that man. He can’t be allowed to create such a powerful program. You must stop him.
I turn off the screen to my phone and take a moment to process before I finish my business and decide to never eat sushi again. Happy New Year!