It is geting very late.
It was I whom the prophecy foretold.
I am Franklin K. Somers.
They are being kind enough to let me write this down, it is my hope that one of them will read it, adn be swayed. One of tehm will believe me and others shall follow. All of them will come around, I am patient. My patience is but one of the many reasons why it is I, and not Francis K. Smythe.
I can not fathom that any one truly wants to believe in Francis, if they are given an alternative, they will take it.
Two hundred years ago, the small time, but very welathy, news printer Maxmillian Ato had what was believed to be a break in his sanity. As it happened that was not the case, but Max did not stay around quite long enough to see the day when his insanity became manifest. Of course, as is always the case, when a man of means says something, someone will listen. Seven listened.
Maxmillian's publication, the Equatorial Times, underwent a massive change when the veil was lifted for him. He cast out all of his staff and began producing a very different Times.
Letters were missing.
People immediately noticed the wrong date on the top; wrong date and wrong year.
Stories were quickly claimed to be fabricated.
The Times had the same sections, much left blank. Advertisers who paid for spots still had their spots run. All publishers know not to ignore their advertisers. On the front page of the first edition of this new Equatorial Times readers found a story reading "Farver Flees." There was a space for the picture of the man who fled, but within that space a caption read "photo not available." If one were to read through this story, there were letters missing from words; for example the second sentence read: "Af r exte sive inve ation everyones' worst fear was confirmed, Farver had betrayed the thrust of the Euro an peoples." The Time's readership was becoming quite confused, as no one knew of Alan J. Farver. The names of many teams were wrong and some sports were wholly absent from the sports section. There was no entertainment section per se, but there were reviews and show times for local productions of plays covering a massive geographic area. The list of plays was almost exclusively Greek tragedy or Shakespeare. None of the actors mentioned in the reviews were at all familiar to theater aficionados.
There were countless other things which confounded, scared and drove off the readership and the advertisers. It took only one month for the readership to dwindle from 1.3 million to 7, and ad revenues fell from 16 million to zero.
The editions began to come out more sporadically, with wildly varying quality. There were times when the grammar would deteriorate to that of a five year old. Max had no living family and did not live in a place that could forcibly institutionalize him. He was free and he was the only one who could change that, he would not.
Max sold his home and lived out of his office. From what I have heard, he never left that office during the next 30 years. Many of his former employees loved him and feared the state he was in. Many thought he would snap out of it. A few cared for him, bringing supplies and medical care as needed. Max had been oblivious to all of this; he spoke to none of them, acknowledged the presence of none of them. He died of starvation 30 years to the day after the printing of the first edition of the new Equatorial Times. He had produced over one thousand editions by himself. His caregivers no longer could bear his weight. Accounts vary as to when the supply lines stopped; it is difficult to tell with a character like Max. Perhaps he went 5 years without any food; I would believe it.
A few details are very important for my story, most importantly: those 7 readers. 5 bore children, cultivating in them the need to collect the Equatorial Times, the need to preserve them. Max's paper became their religion, their faith laid in each edition. The children of the 5 bore children, preservation was hereditary. 100 years after Max's death the religion had grown to 25 members. Readers, as they officially called themselves, would comb over their papers, posting everything online. They tried to keep the word out there.
Of course immediately following the passing of the date of the first edition of the new Equatorial Times the religion swelled from 35 to 2.8 million. The Equatorial Times reopened the day following, it had to, it had 100% predictive validity. The days which they could, they would merely go back and fill in the blanks, add in the photos. On those days which no edition had predicted, they were the same as any paper. Often times they would write stories with the grammar of a five year old. Those who did not adopt it as a religion still became thoroughly aware that something remarkable was at hand. By the fifth edition's date the religion's numbers had arrived at 138 million and those who believed in it as a fact (not necessarily as religion) rose to 99.8%. The remaining 0.2% included the mentally deficient, the insane and people like my parents. My parents might have fallen into one, or both, of the other categories, but I do not believe that to be the case. My parents were merely contrarians. Traditionalists. They saw prevalence of the newly formed Church of Equatorial Readers as idolatry, and when they saw what was coming they believed that the end had arrived. The state began instituting policy that was in accordance to prophecy.
A line frequently used to push through public works programs was "to best prepare us for the coming disaster." The state prepared for eminent earthquakes, floods and tornadoes. Policy was oft created because prophecy told them it was to be. When the paper stated that on June 24th that a tax reduction of 10% was signed into effect, politicians would create the piece of legislation and would promptly put it through on June 24th.
Most stories on policy disinterested me.
One story was important to me.
One story shaped government policy and the collective interest of the world more than all others.
The story of the first world ruler.
The edition's date read: September 28th, 2438.
The headline read simply: World Ruler Born Today.
The story foretold that at 11:04AM the first unified world ruler shall be born. His name is Fran K. S . Dr. Rivers, of Los Angeles, will see this child into the world, proclaiming him a 'healthy baby boy,' following minor complications in labor. The story was one of the few written in future tense and the Prophet Maxmillian Ato rambled a good deal. 5 people had information that lined up with all of the known information. 5 that were known of. I was the sixth, I am almost sure of it.
There were apparently a great number of Dr. Rivers who were from, or of, Los Angeles and the world saw to it that they were all being watched on this day. Those parents with last names starting with 'S' who thought they were to give birth that day all prepared good 'Fran K' names, in case the timing was right. Franklin Kenneth, my name was that of my mother's father, the name that she always intended to bestow upon her son. She told me she had to have a son for the sake of letting her father live on.
My mother was dismayed by the timing of my arrival. She knew I was to be the ruler, one more of Max's evil prophecies come true. This was against all she stood for. Against the Plan. My parents hated the new idolatry and thought sabotaging the prophecy could make the world go right again. My father killed the Dr. Rivers who delivered me, becoming one of the 210 murderers of that year. They fabricated anything they could to keep the truth from being revealed. When the time for my father's execution arrived, three years later, his final words were "my boy was born at 11:22AM."
I never knew him, my mother would take me to see him but I would just cry.
The state insured that the 5 fitting the description were put through the best educational institutions, given all the nourishment and attention they could need. They were to be watched. The prophecy stated that the people would watch him grow up, and that the world would put him into his place of power. A program aired, a high stakes program where viewers watch boys become men. A program where viewers try to determine which man would make for the best world ruler. There was to be an extended hiatus between editions of the New Equatorial Times. The people of the world held their collective breath as things fell into chaos, then popped back out.
With both the 8 month gap in edition and the actions of my mother the world was given quite a scare.
My mother killed on of the five, live on the program. An average of 20% of the populace of watched any given moment, it was estimated that 24% were watching at this particular moment. My mother became on of the 111 murderers of that year. Two years later I was to be a spectator at my orphaning, my mother's execution. Her last words were "I did this for the love of Goad and my son, may others try to set things straight." With this second execution I attained the lonely status of the only person orphaned by the state. My parents were discussed in the media as the first husband and wife duo to both be executed for 189 years. Quite the distinction.
The media was disinterest in my story.
My parents were discussed; I was not brought up as they did not want to impinge upon my privacy. They did not want to rub salt in my wounds.
The story of my mother's execution is not completely pertinent to this tale.
The aftermath of my mother's actions is completely pertinent. My mother had reduced the field of competitors to 4; she had eliminated the one that was ahed in opinion polls. That, of course, was intentional. Francis K. Smyth had learned a lesson. The date of the second-to-last edition of the new Equatorial Times was very near. This second-to-last edition contained only a headline: "World Ruler Seated, Watched from Boy to King for Life." The rest of the edition was blank.
Francis K. Smythe had snuck a gun into a gala event preparing for the global election.
Francis excecuted the other 3 contenders. A default victory ensued. The world was shocked, but of course they put him into power was they were told they would. Hundreds of thousands of predictions proven right eliminated their free will in the matter. Francis became king.
I attest that the year was smudged.
I attest that I fit the description.
Francis was not the true King.
The world still has the opportunity to crown me on that date.
The world wil crown me on that date.
If only one of you guards would read this.
The people will know.
Francis became one of 23 murderers of that year.
Shortly after, so did I.
