…with D. Wallace Peach’s January Speculative Fiction Writing Prompt.
You come, too!
2070 wasn’t much different from past decades, but it had indeed gotten a lot colder here in the District. Folks from the ’20s would be amazed at these changes, no doubt.
He, the 20th of their unique crew, had agreed to hang back and document the moment when the other 19 of the world’s last journalists arrived at the long-rumored White Landscape.
He hoped everyone had avoided wrist-selfies with the moon — there would be no recharging anything, here. Few ever used this old equipment, which one of them had insisted upon bringing for its alleged durability, because really, who could resist? It wasn’t every day that.. oh damn, his own archaic battery was falling victim to the temps.
It was almost good enough to just have a break from the heavy camera they’d each lugged out so as to provide confirmation across the board, this cumbersome throwback to what once was used to capture moments in time.
The enormity of what he was seeing finally broke into his wandering thoughts. It was true! Not a rumor. Not fake news, no, though there hadn’t been any of that for a long time. Here it was in black and white! Surely, none would argue with THIS!
The archived accounts had all agreed: The giant hadn’t been able to make any charges stick, so he’d taken it upon himself all those years ago to hold down the dragon. The strange one had indeed had many chances to leave and return to New York, but in its total narcissistic state was as immovable as its nemesis.
Hence, the Special Counsel was frozen here, too — by sheer will.
“Bless you, sir!”
He hoped the Nineteen would make it back to this base camp in the two allotted days, though none of their post-Internet bodies were up to much walking. He was anxious to show them what they couldn’t see as well as he had, and to see what they may have captured on the inside — if anything.
He wished more than ever that National Geographic still existed; the few folks living back in town had grown too weary to care about proof, although oddly, their suspicion of the wrong entities had never been more ripe.
“Photoshopped!” they’d likely scoff — as if that were still a thing!