History was written but not in that order

Warning

The following article depicts fictional thoughts from historical monsters and may allude to acts of violence, slavery, treachery, blood lust and genocide. Reader discretion is advised.

It had been a pretty rough year for Arthur. Twelve months seemed so long ago. Back when he had a job and a fiancée and a clean apartment and friends. And freedom. Sweet...Sweet…Freedom. God did he miss friends. And socializing. What did he have now? An empty refrigerator, half-eaten pizza, an impressive bottle collection, crushing sadness. Was every birthday going to be like this from now on? He didn’t know.

They kept saying the world had changed but it was still the same. Wealthy people made more money than ever before. Government was a shit show. He had watched all the Netflix. His internet was still trash, no matter what those service providers said. Surviving every day of his life, inching towards oblivion.

He stared at the present on his table. Arthur’s mom sent him a journal. He didn’t have to unwrap the gift to know what it was. She basically came right out and told him that she was going to buy him a journal, she just wanted him to start writing again. Now, here it was, nearly slapping him in the face. He picked the book up off the table. The clown wrapping paper crinkled as he turned the book over in his hands. He hesitated. Why? It’s not like this journal was going to jumpstart his life in any meaningful way. As cathartic as writing is, what would he even write about? Then again, when he was writing he had a job and a fiancée and a clean apartment. What could it hurt?

Arthur tore open the wrapping paper. The journal was nicer than he thought. His mom wasn’t always known for throwing her money around but she did well with this. The smooth black leather felt soft to the touch. When he flipped the book open a black card fluttered to the floor, landing by his feet. The paper felt like nothing he had ever felt before. It was thicker than the typical stock bound within a moleskine notebook and it had an unfamiliar texture, like it was hundreds of years old. But it couldn’t be, it looked brand new.

Still admiring the quality of the journal he noticed the strange card down by his foot. He knelt down to pick it up. The gold type on the black background was mesmerizing.

Rules For Use

Do not get wet Write with purpose

Rules for a journal? He thought. Why would a journal even have rules? Why was the first rule listed, don’t get wet? What, is it a gremlin? Doesn’t that ruin the paper? Seemed a little counterintuitive. The other rule at least had some basis in writing. He looked at the journal again in his hands before tossing it down on the table, questioning why it was so important to keep the journal dry. He would soon find out.

Arthur was not the most graceful. He constantly spilled food, drinks, tea (gossip) all over himself and today was no different. After returning from the kitchen with a glass of water, he sloppily gulped down the liquid splashing it all over his shirt and the journal. “Shit,” he thought as he picked up the journal, trying to wipe the water off the cover. But he couldn’t. The book had already soaked up the water and strangely, the cover was dry.

He opened the journal to see if any of the water had leaked through the cover. What he found astounded him. The journal was filling up with text. Different styles of handwriting littered the pages. As he flipped through the pages there were entries that dated back hundreds of years. The first entry was written by King Charles 1 in March of 1518, months before he issued his edict allowing for the sale of slaves directly from Africa to Spanish colonies in the Americas.

I have received correspondence from the colonies that we cannot maintain our current economic pace. Ten years ago, the native population numbered more than 60,000; now it has dwindled to ⅓ of that. How am I supposed to finance my expansion ambitions with no stable source of income?

Though I have heard from my sources in Africa, slaves there number in the millions. They are said to be of good stock, able to withstand the elements, and are tireless laborers. The ones we currently have working in the Caribbean islands are among some of the best in the kingdom. If only we could import more.

But how are we to do this when we only allow Christians to be sold as slaves and taken to the New World. Ha! What am I even saying? I am King. I decide what is and isn’t allowed. If these savages can be trained in both obedience and Christianity, I can single-handedly change the course of this world.

Forget the Indians. They have proven themselves to be disposable and sickly. Africans slaves shall number in the millions. They will be their own economy and nations will be born from the foundations of their labor. This shall ensure my legacy lives on.

Did Arthur just read what he thought he read? The next entry was half a year later dated December 17, 1518 and was written by Hernan Cortes. But how did Cortes get the journal only six months after King Charles had written his entry? Cortes was in Cuba at the time the King made his edict in August of that year. Still curious Arthur continued on this fascinating journey through history.

I have to move fast if I’m to lead my own expedition into Mexico. Who knows what treasures we can secure for the King. What a fool Velazquez is. He allowed me to climb the ranks and even gave me Alcalde to magister. He has yet to understand the power I desire. I’ve already had his sister in law, it’s too bad he made me take her as a wife. Her sister is quite striking.

Ever since the voyage with Captain Quintero, I have come to believe greatness isn’t earned, it is taken and the mainland of Mexico is ripe for my dominance. Velazquez may have revoked my permit for the expedition but when did playing by the rules ever get anyone power and riches?

I am going to have to be very cautious while on the mainland. I need to build a bigger army allying with the natives in order for my plan to succeed. Moctezuma is a very dangerous man and I will need to deploy all the cunning and treachery I can muster in order to secure his allegiance or his head- whatever comes first without angering the people of Tenochtitlan. Our best chance for success will be if we can somehow trap all the nobles and warriors unarmed under the guise of celebration.

Spies hide all over so I will need to remain vigilant to prevent my own demise. We will lose a lot of men to achieve this great victory and claim Mexico for the King. But when I survive and my army destroys the heart of the Aztec empire, I will cement my legacy as Spain’s greatest Conquistador.

What was Arthur reading? The contents of this journal were intoxicating because they gave him a glimpse into the minds of the men that shaped the development of this world. But something from what he read still seemed off. He flipped to another entry further along in the book, this one February 28, 1925.

The night could not have gone any better. The crowds roared. My enemies were forced into a show of allegiance. The German people still hunger for the blood of the Marxist Jews. They thought they could silence me by sending me to prison. Ha! They only allowed me to gather my thoughts. I had nine months to prepare for last night and it went according to plan.

But now the real work begins. I will need to consolidate power so that I am the voice of Germany. We must rebuild. Our armies. Our economy. Our pride. We must show the world, the power, strength, intelligence, and ingenuity of the German people. Either the enemy walks over our dead bodies or we walk over theirs. And we will walk over theirs. I must promote the idea of the pure race. The German race. Anything less will need to be eliminated.

Yes, millions will die but the benefits to humanity will be endless. Germans will advance medicine and science well beyond our current capacity. We will bring this world to its knees through fear and violence. It all starts with the elimination of the Jews. This legacy, my legacy will return Germany to greatness.

Arthur checked the date on the entry again. Hitler wrote this. It was before Germany’s ascent to violence in the 1930s. Before the ghettos and the death camps. This book was a mirror into the past, like these entries had predicted these terrible, soul destroying outcomes. He skimmed other entries. Most foreshadowed greed, war, destruction. But then there was the last entry.

It spoke of hope and belief in humanity working together to solve its problems. Unity over division. Addressing the world’s issues not from a lens of power but from one of humility. The entry acknowledged that we don’t have all the answers but ordinary people working together produced extraordinary things. November 2005. Arthur could think of only one leader promoting this message and sure enough, when he reached the end of the entry his suspicions were validated. Obama.

Did the former president really understand what this book was? Arthur didn’t believe he did because if he had, he would have described his hope in greater detail, like the monsters before him had rendered their atrocities. But then again, maybe this was all circumstantial. How could he be sure the acts in this journal preceded the future? There was one way to find out. A test. He picked up a pen and started to write.

I can’t believe it. This $20,000 is going to change my life. Today my dreams are in my hands.

He closed the journal and took a deep breath. He didn’t actually believe anything would happen. How could he? His mind wavered as he lied in bed. History was reflected in its pages before history had happened. Was it really possible for him, a normal kid with no special skills, to author the next chapter of history? He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning he awoke, still trying to process everything he read. He opened the journal to find all the pages were blank. Was it all a dream? Even his little entry was gone. He picked up his phone to check the balance of his bank account. He figured it was going to be more of the same, grappling with poverty while working odd jobs just to put food on the table and keep a roof over his head.

The balance read: $20,147.52.

He picked up the little black book and started to write:

When the world united, everything seemed possible for humanity...