The Mission

After Mrs. Mitty came out of the drugstore, they climbed into their automobile, Walter fastened his seat belt, turned on the windscreen wipers and carefully pulled away from the curb. As they drove out of Waterbury he noticed...

a storm, as dense as a London fog. Darn, and he thought he was as good as gold for the rest of the trip. But this was the moment he had always been waiting for; his time to shine. Walter told his wife this, and she told him to put his money where his mouth is. He was a Jack of all trades, he could handle anything.

The buttons were beeping furiously, and Walter stood there with no expression on his face. He had nerves of steel. At this moment in time, it was all work and no play. He had to give it 110%. He was planet Earth, there was a glimmer of hope. If he could just concentrate....just don't rock the boat Walter...it's now or never....

"Walter? Walter what are you doing?" Mrs. Mitty was screaming. Walter sighed. She is driving me crazy, he thought. He thought that maybe she would be quiet for the rest of the trip. When pigs fly, he thought instantly after, laughing to himself.

"What are you laughing about now?" Mrs. Mitty asked angrily. "You know, sometimes I don't think you're the sharpest tool in the shed."

Feeling defeated and small, Walter continued driving through the heavy fog. The car drove through the storm like a knife cutting through butter.  Walter Mitty, the man who led a secret life, continued to think.

Assignment #1

It is a warm sunny day in Dallas, Texas. The date is November 22nd, 1963, and I have travelled back in time to stop the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States. I look at my watch; I'm running out of time. I look to my right side; I see a flock of Kennedy supporters eager to see their leader. I approach a man sporting a fedora and a fine tailored suit, talking to a lady, most likely his wife, with a flowing pink dress that waved in the wind like a proudly raised flag.

"Sir," I interjected, moving towards them cautiously, "this may sound crazy but...the president is in danger, and I need your help." The man, with a look of worry on his face, looked at me like I was insane. I looked at my watch, the second hand looked as if it was ticking faster than it usually does. The entire situation painted the look of distress and worriment on my face. I needed to act fast.

"How so?" he asked slowly, a curious look on his face.

"When the president turns from Houston," I pointed up the street, "onto Elm Street here, a shooter from the book depository right there" I pointed again up the street, this time to the old, red-bricked building, "will fire several shots with a bolt-action rifle at the the president's limousine."

The man looked at his wife uneasily, then back to me.

"How do you know this?" he inquired cautiously.

"I'm from the future" I responded, realizing I must sound crazy almost instantly.

Before he could respond, a monstrous roar arose from the crowd.

The president just turned onto Elm Street.

I thought I had more time. I had to think fast. I looked around, trying to find a way to get the driver of the limousines attention. I started screaming at the motorcade, but was drowned out by the cheers of the people surrounding me. There was nothing I could do. The world as I knew it vanished to white, and I found myself back in the year 2010.

I had failed.