WD writing prompt:
A picture on your mantle unexpectedly falls and crashes to the floor. As you go to pick it up, you notice a note hidden behind the picture. The message is from the future—and written by you. It instructs you to do something important. What does it say?
I sit at the kitchen table rereading it. I’ve turned it over at least 50 times looking for some sort of watermark or other indication to tell me what on Earth could have made me write it. I know that I’ve written it by the penmanship. I used to get very good grades in Sister Agnes’s class for my penmanship, you know. Mentally shaking myself back to the issue at hand I try to figure out the types of scenario which could have led to this. Nothing makes sense. Has the entire universe changed in the time that has lapsed between the current present and the future one in which I found it necessary to leave myself this missive in a photo frame? What type of calamity could have befallen our nation to have made this type of terror necessary? I am speechless at the thought of it. I slowly turn the paper over again and reread…”The only chocolate left on the planet is buried in our backyard under the shed in a yellow tin. Use sparingly.”