Future Forward: Congratulations, You've Been Selected

ＳＥＰＴＥＭＢＥＲ ２０２２

At 24 years old, Noelle Knighton apparently had nothing

to lose and nothing going for her. After having survived one of the major global health pandemics of the century, she realized that life was too short to stay attached to circumstances and situations that did not fulfill her mission or purpose on Earth.

It took her all of one year to realize she never wanted to or needed to pursue a Master's Degree in Accounting. Sure, she racked up an additional $27,000 in student debt that she would have to pay back, probably by working her menial job as a barista for the time being. But that reality was preferable to spending another year in academia; pushing for a degree, so she could get a cushy-corporate job, that would eventually chew her up and spit her out, without a guarantee of the ever-diminishing 401k promise.

The thing about it is, Noelle ruminated, as she clasped her pen, jotting her thoughts down in her small black Moleskine journal she kept since undergrad, is that it is all a grand scam.

Noelle was one of those people who could own a journal for years without filling the pages, however, she was also faithful and sentimental enough to keep the only notebook her grandmother had given her. Noelle's grandmother always preached to her that freedom of thought and speech is her American heritage and birthright that her ancestors died for; and that even spiritually, the power of life and death was in our tongues, both blessings, and curses.

At the thought of her grandmother, Noelle’s heart ached with a warm mix of melancholy and reverence. She flipped through the sparsely filled notebook pages. Though there was little written, the fragments of moments she did capture were the most poignant and impactful ones she never wanted to forget. Like her journal entry on the first day of undergrad, her extensive divulgence of how she lost her virginity, the first time she was betrayed by a close friend, her journey into adulthood, womanhood even -- all of it was intimately documented within these leather-bound pages.

And yet still, she wished she had made more use of the gift given to her. She wondered at how much more fulfilling and rich going through the pages would be if they were filled cover to cover with her handwriting.

Noelle was so consumed and busy with life that she never actually had or made the time to sit down, write, and put her thoughts to the pad. Only when she had a wildly passionate stroke of creativity, a moment of genius, or a particularly good day she wanted to remember -- did she journal, pouring out her soul into its contents.

The thing about writing is that although she had the intense desire to perform the act, she failed to follow through and actually do it in the moments she desired to. She’d tell herself: “What a great idea, I’ll write this down in the evening” which became tomorrow, which became the weekend, which became gaps in her memory and emotional attachment to what she was actually going to write. Then, because she could not remember on which day or why the passion struck her in the first place, she did not write at all.

Besides, writing usually took so much time away from the day-to-day hustle of life in the twenty-first century. Noelle continued in her notebook:

The whole school thing -- I mean, think about it -- from as young as five years old you’re ushered into kindergarten and taught how to learn, but hardly ever taught how to think, especially for yourself. Just take orders… fall in line… obey! Ponder, but do not daydream -- pay attention! Not to mention you’re in school for thirteen years, up until the age of state-sanctioned “maturity” and then at 18, after having been restricted your entire life and told what to do? They turn you loose to the university of your choice and tell you: find out what you wanna do for the rest of your life? I mean seriously!

Noelle was certain that this journal entry was to assuage her feelings of failure and guilt about dropping out of her graduate program in the second year. She knew how much her grandmother stressed the importance of higher education because historically, access was primarily limited to the wealthy elite and middle-class.

“Sorry grandma, I have to live for myself, not your expectations,” Noelle whispered aloud to herself, or maybe even to the ghost of her grandmother, that existed in her mind. Her grandmother had passed one year prior; deep down inside, Noelle hadn’t reconciled with the feeling that dropping out of graduate school disappointed her grandmother, even in her grave.

However, just the thought of looking at a calculator, crunching any set of numbers, or being in front of a computer made her sick. What made her even sicker: the thought and impending reality of jumping through all those Blackboard deadlines, projects, presentations, and textbooks-- just so she could escape academia with a certificate, a $74,000 student-loan ball and chain on her finances, a trash credit score (because no one taught her financial literacy), and an inability to get a job in her field because of “lack of technical experience.”

Forget that! Noelle wrote. It’s all a scam, the higher education system is making bookoo money and isn’t even giving us practical tools to succeed. I am meant to be a creator not a consumer -- and staying in school was a surefire way to get me caught up in the rat race of running the fastest on the wheel for the biggest slice of cheese. I want to make the cheese myself!

Noelle closed the notebook, massaging her temples; she was experiencing an emotional overload. The gap between who she wanted to be and the means of getting there seemed too great. She wasn't even certain who she wanted to be was. Sometimes she felt as if she had a vision of her future that was greater than her ability to actually materialize it...

Out of habit, she pulled out her iPhone and scrolled listlessly through her social media, checking on her ‘friends’ who continued to grind and thrive in a world that seemed to perpetually kick her butt.

As she checked her email -- a very special subject line caught her eye -- 𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕: ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤, 𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕!

Noelle's heart skipped a beat. She was selected... by the Future Forward Institute? The moment seemed surreal as she opened the email, reading its contents.

Noelle had entered into the Future Forward lottery during the summer. In order to qualify, you would first have to be pre-screened for outstanding health, have your bloodwork done, and brain scanned -- and then once you get past those stages-- you were qualified for being chosen for the mission.

The prize entailed that upon selection (out of a one in gazillion chance), one lucky United States citizen would receive a $20,000 grand prize, as well as be the first participant in the trial run of the institutes’ new time machine.

Noelle’s hands shook. The email informed her she had forty-eight hours upon receiving their message to respond: accept or decline -- before they would select the next candidate.

Suddenly, the girl with nowhere to go, not much to do, and totally uncertain about her life -- was selected for an expedited trip to the future!

Within forty-eight hours of her acceptance, she would be wired $20,000 dollars to her PayPal, picked up by a private transportation service, flown to Silicon Valley, and booked to stay in a lavish hotel.

Per social distancing guidelines, everything would primarily be virtual, up until her time machine release day. Until then, she would be set up with the appropriate technologies to virtual conference with the administrators of the program.

While there, she would be trained for two weeks on preparation for traveling through time, appropriate procedures and etiquette, and how to get back.

With no family to miss her, or friends close enough to care about her disappearance, Noelle accepted; she was the perfect candidate, she had nothing to lose.

ＴＨＥ ＧＲＥＡＴ ＤＡＹ：

ＴＨＥ ＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ ＯＦ ＰＡＲＴＩＣＩＰＡＮＴ ０

With the process complete, Noelle stood in front of a great, arched doorway, in a spacious glass holding room. Through the windows, she could see the administrators, computer monitors, and cameras live streaming over the internet. Noelle was participant zero, she waited nervously for the administrators to switch on the portal after the national anthem finished playing.

Noelle thought about her last days in 2022 -- how she didn’t even make a sizable dent in the $20,000 dollars she received -- she ate about $1,700 dollars worth of gourmet food in L.A., by herself, and transferred the rest of the money into her bitcoin account.

At least, she thought to herself, maybe I can find out in the future if that money I invested made me a bitcoin billionaire.

Noelle awaited the clear to enter the portal. Within moments the gateway fired up and something like a vortex of celestial swirls, cosmic rays, and oceans appeared before her.

Then she realized: this was real. She was really being sent away with nothing more than her iPhone, black Moleskine (for notes and insights), and a single hundred dollar bill as a testament to the people of the future, that she was indeed from the past.

“All clear, at your ready,” the administrator instructed.

Noelle’s heart raced; her only objective was to come out on the other side alive as the first citizen to interdimensional travel across time. Noelle was given a molecule-binding necklace to keep her from splitting apart (because of the velocity of travel), and a portal-pen she could click to open up a one-way ticket to the past of 2022.

Noelle exhaled, clutching the necklace in her left hand, she waved with her right as she stepped in.

Whoosh -- and in an instant -- Noelle Knighton was no more.

ＳＥＰＴＥＭＢＥＲ ２０９２

Noelle regained consciousness in a small, white room, as her eyes adjusted slowly to the brilliance that surrounded her; she had no concept of how long she'd been unconscious. She realized she was no longer wearing the clothes she traveled in, but rather, a beige, cotton jumpsuit.

Noelle felt the coolness of the floor on her bare feet, as she arose woozily from her fetal position. She was immediately startled by a life-sized holographic woman, dressed in what resembled navy captain attire, who stood about four feet from her.

“Greetings Noelle, participant zero. The Republic of Global United World Incorporated welcomes you to the year 2092. You are the first of many participants who will be sent into the future. We regret to inform you, but you will not be able to return to 2022. All items of your past have been incinerated for your safety --” said the woman.

Noelle went into shock. Everything that indicated who she was, where she was from, proof of her memories, and existence were kept in her notebook and iPhone, and now they were… gone?

The holographic woman continued, “Our technological, future-predictive mechanisms have determined that time traveling is dangerous to our present. So, we have set in place time-portal traps in order to capture and acclimate travelers, such as yourself, to our present, so you do not interrupt the delicate balance of the past. It will only take the Future Forward Institute nine more times to realize no one will ever come back to the past. The good news is, you are now a citizen of Global United World Incorporated!”

When Noelle left, she thought she had nothing to lose -- but what little security she had and cherished -- was now destroyed?

“Wait--” Noelle whispered, clutching for her pen to the past; it was gone, the necklace, her notebook, iPhone... gone! Suddenly -- she felt violently ill -- as the nightmarish reality dawned upon her.

Noelle vomited, expelling her trauma across the pristine white floors.

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