by Mic Shannon
He smiled and started dancing as he gave the book back.
“So, are you gonna call her? You gotta call her! Naw, don’t call her. Wait, like, three days then call her. You gotta follow the three-day rule!”
“What are you talking about Manny?”
“You don’t know about the three-day rule? You can’t call her too soon or you’ll seem like a weirdo, man. You gotta wait three days.”
“I’ve never heard that before.”
“It’s true, man. Trust me.”
“Oh really, and how many girls have you dated?”
“Well…okay zero, but I kissed like a ton of chicks and big booty Tasha let me touch her boobs before when she wasn’t wearing a bra so that counts.”
“Shut up Manny.”
“I’m serious, you gotta wait three days. Look it up if you don’t believe me!”
“And where did you learn about the three-day rule?”
“Old reruns of the Steve Harvey show.”
“Man, whatever. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“Don’t try to flip this around on me, okay.”
“Go to class.”
“Okay fine, but promise me you won’t call her for three days!”
“Scram.”
Manny ran off down the hall, practicing his crossover moves and layups on invisible opponents. It seemed as if Manny was more excited than he was. I guess he really did look up to him. Nonetheless, he couldn’t wait to get home to read more of that book.
--- 4:15 pm ---
Michael didn’t wait long to hit the stairs and bolt up to his room. He was excited at this point; not sure what he was discovering, only sure that it was a part of his mother’s life that she had never shared with him. Throwing his bookbag down onto his bed, he stared at it. He hadn’t quite figured out what he was going to do about hiding the money yet, but he knew he needed to count it.
He poked his head out of the room and looked up and down the hall. The other kids were all running out of the door to go outside and play, and the staff was about to get started on dinner. He gently pushed the door closed, locked it, and walked over to his bed. He pulled out the plastic bag and removed the wad of cash from it. The entire stack was held together by two large rubber bands, with six smaller stacks each banded together. He removed the rubber band from the first stack and started counting. All hundreds.
As he silently mouthed the numbers, he started counting each individual bill. He counted fifty $100 bills in the first stack. $5,000.
“Wow,” he thought, “this is crazy!”
There were five more stacks just like it. “Thirty-thousand dollars,” he mouthed to himself, almost in disbelief.
*Knock* *Knock*
The noise had startled him, causing him to jump. He grabbed his chest and exhaled a sigh of relief. “The money,” he thought. He jumped up and grabbed the bills, shoving them back into the plastic bag.
*Knock* Knock*
“Just a second, hold on,” he yelled.
He shoved the plastic bag back into his book bag and zipped it up. Before opening the door, he paused, taking a quick second to compose himself. He unlocked the door and swung it open, rubbing his eyes and pretending to yawn.
“Hey,” said Ms. Tanya, “everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his eyes, “I was just laying down. Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, okay. I was just checking. I know you usually go outside with the other kids after school and shoot around.”
“Yeah, well…I’m tired today, so I’m just gonna rest for a little while.”
“Okay hun, no problem.”
She turned around to leave, but stopped.
“Oh yeah,” she said, turning back around, “I looked up that book in the e-library. It’s called five hundred and seventy-five days, right? I couldn’t find it. Who’s the author?”
“You know,” he replied, “I honestly can’t remember.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Do you mind if I borrow it when you’re finished? I love a good book”
He paused for a moment, “yeah, sure.” He planned on being long gone on his way to Florida by then.
“Okay…cool.”
She turned around and started to head toward the stairs, “Well, go ahead and get some rest. And you can close the door but don’t lock it. I get worried about you especially with your mother passing.”
“Okay Ms. Tanya.”
He watched from the doorway as she grabbed the banister and made her way down the stairs until she was out of sight. “That was close,” he thought.
He closed the door back and opened his book bag, debating with himself upon where he would put the money. He thought of all the places he could hide it; under the bed, in the closet. Nothing really made sense. He knew he had to figure it out soon. The longer he carried it on his person, the more likely he was to lose it or get it taken from him.
He contemplated the thought for a long while. It had to be hidden somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one would think to look. After racking his brain for a few more minutes, he gave up on the idea. He would hold onto it for now, and the rest he would have to figure out later.
Reaching in his bag, he grabbed the book. All day he had thought about it. It was like it drew him in closer every time he opened it. Not just to the poetry, but to the idea of his mother’s most personal thoughts. Opening the journal, he flipped to the next entry:
My journey begins in fear
Others here say it’s completely normal
There is nothing normal about us
We were hand-picked by a higher power
Chosen to bear the burden
Am I personally afraid?
H.P. Lovecraft once said:
“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”
This is the unknown…
WED, MAY 3rd, 2034
Alexandria, VA, USA
6:32 am
T he following morning Michael was suddenly awoken by the sound of banging on his door. The other kids were already awake, preparing themselves for the school day. The diary sat on the floor, open. He had fallen asleep while reading.
On the walk to school, he contemplated prom. There were no plans to go before he asked Cynthia, although he was sure his mother would have wanted him to go. How, he pondered, was he going to get a tuxedo.
The school day went by easy enough. Cynthia had stopped him in the hall at one point to ask him if he preferred blue or green.
“Green, like your eyes,” he said with a smile. She smiled back, looking away as if she would blush at any moment.
“Okay,” she replied, walking away with a bounce in her step. She seemed genuinely excited to go to prom with him. It almost made Michael feel nervous; feel as if it was all fake. Could this really be happening? Sitting through his next class, it seemed like she was the only thing he could think about.
After the bell for the last class buzzed, Michael stood at his locker, retrieving the books he would need to complete his final history essay. Mr. Marlow came around the corner, reminding students to get their permissions slips signed for the school trip.
“Michael,” he said warmly, “how are you?”
“Hey, Mr. Marlow, I’m fine.”
“Listen, Michael, I just wanted to say that I’m glad we haven’t had any more behavioral issues with you. I gave them my word that you would fix yourself, and you didn’t embarrass me.”
“Thanks.”
Mr. Marlow stood at Michael’s locker as he grabbed his last book out, being careful not to open his bag and place it inside for fear that the principal would see his plastic bag of money and report him to the school officers. He shut his locker and looked at the tall, well-dressed man.
“Mr. Marlow,” he said softly.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“You said that I could come to you if I ever needed anything, right?”
Mr. Marl
ow took a step toward him with attentiveness. “Sure, you can always come to me young man.”
“Well,” Michael began apprehensively, “I’ve really been thinking about what I’m going to do after I graduate.”
“Well, do you have any ideas?” the principal inquired. He had only known Michael for a short time, and in that time, he had never noticed any interest in further education.
“Yeah, well I mean, my mother always used to tell me that knowledge is the key, so I was thinking of maybe going to college. I really wanna move to Florida I think.”
“Well, son, there’s tons of schools down there. You have the University of Miami, Florida A&M, and my alma mater, the Florida State University. How are your grades?”
“Pretty good, A’s and B’s. Although I am getting a C minus in Ms. Robles’ Spanish class.”
“Have you taken the SAT test?”
“Yes, in my junior year. Right before I came to this school.”
“How did you do?”
“Top thirty percent.”
“That’s good. Really good,” said the Principal, impressed at the first-time score, “Have none of our staff spoken to you about college plans?”
“No, sir. At my old school, I was scheduled for a college interview,” Michael began to shift his weight, uneasy about the rest, “but I got expelled.”
“Well, I need to get you over to talk to Ms. Watkins,” said Mr. Marlow with a sense of urgency as he placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, “She can help you. First, you have to apply.”
“I plan on it. But can you, maybe, help me get into your school? Florida State?”
Mr. Marlow looked down at the young teen eager to make something of his life. A smile emerged on his face, ecstatic at the idea that he might have gotten through to one of his students. That was his goal all along.
“Sure,” he said with a smile, “I’ll make some calls.”
THURS, MAY 4th, 2034
Washington, DC, USA
2:37 pm
T he rotors on Marine One whirred with a barely audible buzz throughout the cabin area as the President sat forward on the long leather pullout couch, rubbing her temples with her fingertips and watching the latest report about her on the news streaming network displayed on the SMART TVs lining the cabin. It was an old helicopter, desperately in need of upgrades, but hardly a priority given their overextended budget.
As the helicopter made its final descent to the White House lawn, the overview of the property saw the front gates lined with reporters anxious to question the middle-aged black woman about domestic policy. Her ratings were falling slightly, but still better than after she initially took office, with her first-year’s approval ratings at a mere twenty-five percent. Still, she fared comparatively better than her predecessor, ending his term in a single-digit approval rating. These numbers, and the similar pattern of descent that they took each Presidential term, meant that she would soon be one of the least-liked Presidents in American history, just as the past three. It plagued her mind, ever worried that her dreams of meaningful change would be overshadowed by the trend of poor ratings and harsh media scrutiny. She was looking to break no records in that category. But this was politics, and for every push, there’s a pull.
Marine One touched down on the White House lawn, the Washington Monument obelisk standing firm in the backdrop. The helicopter door lowered into stairs as a Marine Sergeant stepped down onto the lawn, faced toward the doorway of the aircraft, and saluted.
The second she emerged from the helicopter, the flash from the media cameras began to snap like paparazzi at the scene of celebrity gossip. She waved to the crowd and gave a lazy salute to the Marine, who dropped his hand and stood firmly at attention until she left. Her hair was short, but she placed her hand on her head to hold her hairstyle as the wind from the rotors blew her curls out of place. Before she could approach the door, her Senior Counselor rushed out to meet her.
“Ma’am, we have the Oval Office secured and ready for your daily briefing,” said the blonde Counselor, Patricia Gilham, adjusting her glasses as she looked down and flipped through her notepad.
“So, what am I stepping into today?” asked the President, continuing her walk without missing a stride as the advisor strolled next to her holding her notes.
“The usual,” she replied as they approached the door, “the G.O.P. is pushing for the new Border Security Bill again in the wake of the bombing in Laredo. Democrats are opposing through filibuster in the Senate. They think these domestic attacks are the result of crimmigration. I’ve sent the Chief Correspondent to speak to the media regarding the capture of the two suspects. The Mexican government has offered limited support.”
“It’s a shame,” remarked the President, twisting her lips in frustration, “I’m always living in the wake of my predecessor and his mistakes. Anything else?”
“New fighting has emerged on the coast of Pakistan and Tajikistan. Our forces there believe that the New Islamic Coalition is moving weapons and materials for training facilities. Also, we’re seeing more evidence of the N.I.C. in North Korea,”
“So, they’re not isolated. Any word from China?”
“They’re still claiming it’s not their problem.”
“Big surprise. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Well, it just came up,” said the advisor, looking down at her notepad as she flipped the page, “something from NASA. Something urgent.”
“Just like last time, huh?” scoffed the President as she shook her head, “with NASA it’s never urgent. Thanks Tricia.”
Another Marine opened the door and saluted as they entered the White House. The two women continued their chat, reserving classified conversation as they made their way down the halls to the Oval Office. Media reporters were being held back by security as they shouted questions and snapped photos of them, hoping to catch the newest juicy story about an angry comment they incited or an awkward facial expression that might hold the minds of the thirsty readers for the day.
The Oval Office doors opened to a room of three, seated and waiting with notes. The first was CIA Director Jimmy Horn, a fifteen-year veteran of the Agency hand selected by the President for his valor in the crippling of Islamic militants in Iran. He was an especially coarse man, both in demeanor and attitude. He held no punches, always got his target, and had avoided tarnishing the Agency for his entire tenure.
The second was the National Security Advisor, General John Adams. For thirty-three years, the General had served the military, rising to the rank of Commandant of the Marine Corps before being appointed. He was a hero to most; a husky man, built like one would expect the stereotypical infantry commander to look, but it was his wit and intuition that led him to win so many battles. Recently, however, he was in the wake of a scandal after hacker groups had stolen top-secret documents about troop movements in Turkey. It was a huge blow to the administration, with the fallout leading to less cooperation from once-aligned nations.
In the third seat sat Nasa’s Administrator, Gary Dunn, the highest-ranking member of the space organization. He was especially bright, although he had garnered a reputation of being overly adamant about non-emergencies. He pushed his glasses up onto his face, sitting up in his chair when the President arrived. The blonde advisor, Patricia, stood in the corner of the room, ready to take notes. The President approached her desk, took a deep breath, and sat down.
“Okay, I think we should begin with you Gary. What’s your concern?”
He cleared his throat, “Yes, Mrs. President.”
Pausing for a moment, he looked around at the room, taking in the subtle vibes of condescension.
“Well,” he began, “one of our Voyager probes picked up on some activity that we at NASA believe could be a cause for alarm. It’s three unknown objects ma’am, right between Mars and Jupiter.”
The President sat back in her chair, slightly withdrawing her attention from the conversation as the NASA Administrator slid to the edge of his seat,
trying to drive home the urgency of his message.
“We were concerned about their trajectory and HQ just confirmed. They’re heading straight for us. We have roughly two weeks.”
“Can we intercept with In-LaWS?” asked the President.
In-LaWS, an acronym for Integrated LAser Weapon System, was a laser system created by the U.S. Military in 2019. It integrated accurate laser technology with the destructive force of thermo-nuclear energy particles, creating the largest mass destruction device in the history of the world. A smaller version one-eighth the size of the original had been tested in the Pacific, completely devastating a remote island, annihilating the entire land mass and polluting the water with radiation for miles. It was immediately banned by the U.N. for use in war. Treaties were formed, and within three years, only three nations had adopted it; Russia, China, and the United States. The three lasers sat on satellites orbiting the Earth; officially they were to be used in the event of an asteroid, but unofficially they were for National Security. Thus, the LAW Alert.
The LAW Alert was created two Presidents prior, in response to escalating tensions. Similar to the air raid drills of the 1950’s and 1960’s, it was meant to keep civilians safe. The protocol was to kill all power to the city, electronic signals being a key element for targeting. Under the cover of darkness, people would be ordered to secure locations where they could be protected and offered medical attention. The LAW Alert was critical to safety and praised by political hypochondriacs everywhere.
The development of In-LaWS also created another issue. As countries hashed out who should have or not have this weapon, thus begun a second Cold War, with China, Russia, and the United States all involved. It ushered in the new age of hacking and anti-hacking, which became a breeding ground for cyber warfare.
“No, ma’am,” replied the Administrator, responding to her inquiry about obliterating the objects “Well, we might not want to.”
She scrunched her eyebrows, almost chuckling, “Why not?”
