The lady got back up, wiped the blood off her cheek, giving me a dirty look throughout.
I feigned interest in the brick, examining it while trying to avoid laughing.
I was surprised when I found an actual message on the projectile, in crayon:
“If you help her, you’re dead!”
The window behind me shatters, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a pavement stone.
Third time this month. I’m not surprised. With my phone disconnected, it’s the second best way to send me a message.
The dame didn’t react quickly enough, though. Now she’s got a blackeye.
“Duck,” I say, smiling.
FROM: THE WRITER
TO: PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN
FORD’S THEATRE
APRIL 14TH 1865
THIS MESSAGE WAS SENT FROM 200 YEARS IN THE FUTURE STOP
THE PEOPLE OF EARTH WISH TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INCOMPARABLE SERVICE TO HUMANITY STOP
ALSO WHEN YOU HEAR THE LINE: “YOU SOCK-DOLOGIZING OLD MAN-TRAP” REMEMBER TO DUCK STOP
The squiggles had to be an alien message. He looked again, hoping to see some overall pattern… For weeks, he’d found these squiggles that no human hands could have made on his papers. He left, frustrated.
A spider fell into his ink, then walked around the blank sheets of paper.