I Never Promised You a Moon Colony

Author's Note: This is my winning entry to Margaret Atwood's 'Dear 2114' Future Library Contest. It answers this prompt: Write a story about the advice you would give the world in 2114.

Thank you for reading. Contests are a fabulous way to connect with other writers and show our support for each other. If you have an opportunity to enter a competition like this one, I encourage you to take it!

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I Never Promised you a Moon Colony: A Future Library Contest Entry

I don't have any advice for you.

I know I'm supposed to. It's why I'm writing this, right? I've been given an awesome opportunity: to offer the future a bit of ye olde wisdom.

Unfortunately for you, 2114, I'm not a wise person. Few of us from the early twenty-first century are, which unfortunately translates into the fact that you future people are totally screwed. I'm guessing you already know that by now....

Let's look at this situation in reverse. Would any of my contemporaries listen to advice from random people living one hundred years in the past? Should they? Surely someone from the turn of the twentieth century would have plenty to say to us.

"Avoid getting involved in foreign wars."

"Never forget the healing power of mercury, especially if you happen to come down with syphilis."

"If a man takes the liberty of stealing a kiss from you when he comes a-courtin', make sure to show your displeasure."

"The Time of Trouble has come to an end. Embrace your paradise on Earth!"

You can see we really took that first one to heart. And the rest? Well... it's a mixed bag at best.

There's no reason you should listen to me, but you're curious anyways, aren't you? Assuming someone hasn't come along and invented a longevity drug, I'm dead by now. My son is probably dead too. That stings a little, that we are ghosts to you, that these words are the ruminations of someone forgotten before you were even born.

What stings me intrigues you, though, doesn't it 2114? Humans are curious creatures. That's something that I'm guessing hasn't changed in one hundred years and likely never will. You are curious to know who this person is, not because I'm anyone important or special, but simply because of the happenstance that brought my words to you. We in the past are always imagining mystical connections where there are likely to be more logical explanations. We don't believe in coincidences despite them being a scientific actuality (that's one thing you should know about us, we don't tend to take things like facts seriously).

You're no different. You're imagining, right now, that there's some purpose to you - you -- in particular reading my words and that your own significance makes me significant somehow too. Whether this is true or not, the belief that it is is enough to draw you in, to keep you reading. In your mind, you have the power, just by reading this, to resurrect me from a grave of obscurity. How can you not want to do that!

In light of your eagerness to make my words known to the twenty-second century, I'm going to retract my first statement and give you something to chew on. Whether you consider it advice or the mindless blathering of a foolish one hundred and thirty-eight year-old lady is your prerogative, but here it is:

Don't believe anything the past promises you.

I don't own a hovercraft or a jetpack. According to the past, I'm supposed to by now. They swore it would happen. My diet doesn't consist of two daily soy-based meal-replacement tabs either, and last I checked, our moon colony has a population of exactly zero.