Short Little Stories

Samhaim Saturday was born to a nice set of parents who considered themselves Wiccans, and held generally positive beliefs about magic and spirituality, and saddled their son with a relatively poor choice of a name.

Nonetheless, Sam (as he preferred to go by) knew it wasn’t his name for which he would be remembered. Nor would it be for his own lovely family, despite his strong and independant wife Molly, and his lovely children (Jack and Angie) who would grow up well, one becoming a leading activist, the other a senator.

Nor would it be for his collection of old Hot Wheels toys, kept in mint condition, and prominently displayed in his basement. It was, in fact, the single largest such collection in the world, and Sam was proud of it – but it was, in the end, not even a footnote in history.

Even his personal research (he was a physicist at a university of moderate reknown) would eventually be forgotten. He had made some surprising contributions to the field, and he knew for a fact that at least two of them would not be proven wrong a few centuries down the road, when mankind realized they had been looking at the world in the wrong fashion after all.

He knew this because of his gift, and the one thing for which his name would be recorded in history – he could tell the future. Many would find this either an amazing power, or else a dreadful curse – for Sam, it was neither. It was merely a chore, and this was for two reasons.

First, the method of his fortune telling. Many seers can simply visualize the future, or read it in a cup full of tea leaves. Sam saw it in his cereal, in the shapes that floated within a bowl of milk. Some cereals proved more conducive than others – Lucky Charms was a strong one, and Alpha-bits especially effective.

Nonetheless, it was far from the most exciting means of prophecy – and made it altogether impossible for him to enjoy breakfast, besides.

Secondly, he was farsighted when it came to the future – which is to say, the earliest predictions he made concerned events hundreds of years away. Some were momentous – great wars, terrible tragedies. Others dealt with minor things – a man arriving late to work, or a burnt dinner meal, or other assorted annoyance. He was pleased, in some small way, that the people of the future still had their share of the petty aches and pains of life – it made them more real, to him, and helped affirm his own existence.

So, he had his share of visions of the distant future, which included the knowledge that his own prophecies would be instrumental in making that future world a better place. And so, in between enjoying his happy family, and collecting his toy cars, and researching his important (and occasionally meaningless) discoveries… he recorded what was to come.

He knew it would be useless to this generation, and ignored for many years to come… but it would survive the ravages of time. His name would be remembered, and eventually his prophecies come to light. Lives would be saved. The world would be made a better place.

He would never see the results of his work, save in his morning bowl of milk and toasted oats… but knowing it would come to pass was enough.