12:02 PM, August 25th, 2025: I stared at the computer screen. Word after word after stupid word. This book was driving me nuts. I mean, what good was trying to write a book anyway? So what: “If there is a book you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it?” Toni Morrison had obviously never tried it in this day and age. I watched my cursor appear and disappear, waiting for more words that weren’t coming. Honestly? It was just far too hard. I was stuck in a never-ending loop of editing and never writing, knowing that, most likely, no one would ever even want to read this, let alone publish it. I had spent one too many a night tossing and turning over meaningless dates, fake places, and imaginary people. It was exhausting. It was only a matter of time before I snapped. I snapped. No more castles or dragons, no more talking statues or magic forests. I quit. I was done. A soft chuckle escaped through my lips. There it was, there was the freedom I hadn’t felt in so long. I didn’t feel the heaviness anymore, that heaviness that came with the unfinished word count or the publisher rejection letter. I slammed the laptop shut. I was finally free. 9:58 PM December 16th, 2025: The frigid air nipped at my face, bringing tears to my eyes. I stared at the ground, watching my feet crunch lightly into the hard-packed white snow. What time was it now? Nine, ten, maybe? I had worked late at the office, getting the final touches together for our project launch tomorrow. I was tired now, but I knew that tomorrow it would be worth it when I wasn’t scrambling around at the last second. I glanced up at the sky, watching the dark clouds with a wary eye. More snow was coming; it always was here. We had the harshest of winters and the hottest of summers to go along with it. I quickened my steps, eager to beat the snow that was surely coming. I ran my hands down my face, letting my gloves warm my skin, at least a little. I toed the packed snow with my boot, digging into it and finally hitting the sidewalk. I kicked a clump of snow forward and looked up right in time to watch it collide with someone’s head. He stumbled backward a little. “Oh my—I’m so sorry!” I gasped, my hand flying over my mouth. He straightened up, wiping beads of snow off his cheek. “Nay—no, it’s—it’s fine. Really.” His accent took me off guard. What was it—French maybe? It was thick and deep, the kind of accent that could make you zone out in a minute, but still sway along to nothing but the sound of the words. I stared at him for a second, trying to figure him out in nothing but the light of the rising moon. I wondered if he was an actor of some sort, coming back from a late-night show. He could have at least put on a jacket over his costume; it was freezing out, for goodness sake. A loose white shirt was tucked into a pair of black pants, both of which looked like they were sure to freeze him to death. The problem was—he looked so familiar. It was on the tip of my tongue. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I blurted out, my mind still whirling, trying to match him with one celebrity or another. He froze. “Nay, I don’t think so.” With that, he darted past me, his thudding footsteps fading as he ran off. I resumed my steps, still trying to figure out where I knew him from. He said I didn’t know him, but he still seemed annoyingly familiar. It was the strangest sense of déja vu, when you’re sure you have done something before, but know without a doubt you never have. I tried one last time to remember who he was, then gave up completely. Sometimes, people can just be strange. One thought sprang up, but I banished it almost immediately. That idea was preposterous. Idiotic. Unexplainable. I’m sure there was a reasonable explanation for it all.
3:07 PM February 4th, 2026: At this point, the rock on the table was mocking me. The rock had shown up on the table that morning, which wasn’t strange, not for my line of work. Usually, I took that as a sign that it was my new project and Veronica, my boss, needed me to figure out what exactly it was and where it came from. But this particular object had me completely puzzled. No records had been dropped off with it, which was a little unusual but not unheard of. Usually, even without records, I could find something or somewhere in history where it appeared. But this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t look at first glance to be anything special, not much different than the artifact I’d identified yesterday, or the day before that, even. I rubbed my head. A strong headache was coming. I clicked on my desk light, watching the red stone glow in the light. I turned it over in my hands, examining it from every angle. I pushed my glasses up with my shoulder, still easing around the stone in my hands. I caught something with the corner of my eye and stopped the stone. I turned it back, angling it to catch the light. Something was engraved lightly into the side of the stone. I ran my finger over it, watching it appear and disappear. It was so easy to miss; it made sense why I hadn’t seen it. I pulled a pen from behind my ear. I turned the stone around slowly with my left hand, tracing each symbol onto a piece of paper as I went. I clicked off my lamp, setting the stone down on the desk. I plucked up the paper, examining the symbols I had scribbled down. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before, that’s for sure. I wondered if anyone in our language department would understand it. I could send it over later for them to puzzle over. But I wanted to take a crack at it first. I pulled my laptop over and flipped it open, putting in a search for languages that didn’t use the Latin alphabet. A handful of different websites came in, some of them things like Wiki posts, but most were nothing but Reddit posts asking which languages didn’t use the Latin alphabet. Nothing helpful to me. I shut the laptop and pushed it away, pulling a book from the shelf instead. I flipped through it, periodically pushing my glasses up. I scanned the pages from A to Z. On and on it went, but nothing that matched what I had found. I leaned back, slamming the book shut a little harder than I meant to. I slid the language book back onto the shelf. My momentary elation at my discovery evaporated. I picked up the stone again, hoping that it might reveal something—anything—else to help me. It wasn’t big, not much bigger than a softball would be. It was a rich, shiny red. I pulled a drawer open, pulling out a pocket-sized flashlight. I clicked a button, and a purple ultraviolet light shone on the ruby. I watched it turn to a pinkish red. So, it was a real ruby. I stuffed the flashlight back into the drawer, leaning back in my chair and spinning slowly. Around and around and around, thinking long and hard. The only thing I could really do was send the scrap of writing to our language experts, and the stone to our gemology experts, to verify that it was a true ruby. Something ticked in the back of my mind, a memory of something or another. I tried to dig it up, but it was gone too fast. I sighed, digging my phone from my pocket and dialing the number to send this stone to the gemologists.
