Flash Fiction Story-- Sophia's Return

This is a true story. It didn't happen to a friend of a friend. You won't find it on Snopes. It happened to me. I swear.

But you still won't believe it.

It's hard for me to accept that. Like most people, I like to be believed. I have one of those trustable faces. Yet, if I told you this story in person, you still wouldn't believe me. It hurts a little. See, I was honest again. About my feelings. My feelings you're about to hurt.

Anyway.

The printer was a birthday gift to me when I turned fifteen. I don't know why, since I didn't get a computer for another six months, but I was very happy with my printer. It was pink. I named it Sophia. Here's the part you won't believe: Almost exactly a year after I got it, my printer disappeared.

No. I don't mean someone stole it, or borrowed it, or anything else you're about to suggest that everyone else has already suggested over the years.

I mean, it freaking disappeared. I was printing a report about how Hamlet's main problem wasn't that he was indecisive, but that his actions--when he did act--were rash. For instance, how he accidentally killed Polonious. If he had just looked behind the curtain, instead of slashing first and asking questions later, it never would have happened. Rash, Hamlet, rash.

Yes, I know I remember the essay really well, even after ten years. You would too if it had been printing when your printer vanished. I'm pretty sure I'd remember every item on the grocery list if it had been printing at the time instead. Yes. I printed grocery lists when I was fifteen. Don't make it into a thing. It's not a thing. Plenty of kids type up grocery lists.

Moving on.

I wish I could say "it vanished right before my eyes!" but I can't. I had been up all night writing the paper and I closed my eyes as I listened to the sweet melody of a newly-finished essay printing. And then it stopped. I lifted my head, and the printer was nowhere to be seen. It took half my essay with it.

My teacher didn't believe me. My parents didn't believe me. My friends didn't believe me. You don't believe me.

It's all right. Clearly, I'm used to it. Slightly traumatized, but used to it nonetheless.

Here's the thing: yesterday, Sophia returned. I don't know how it found me, seeing as I've moved since then. Twice, actually. But find me it did.

I was having dinner at the time, and it appeared on my coffee table. Grey's Anatomy continued on while I gaped at the pink memory-incarnate.

And then it started printing. But get this. It wasn't my essay! It was a letter, signed by me! Future Me! Mrs. Me! There was a note about my future husband, how we meet, things like that. And birthdays of my future children. There was something about not taking the job I'd soon be getting a call about. And warnings about crossing the street on the night of September seventh. Didn't mention a year, but that's all right. And there's lottery ticket numbers! I bought a ticket today for a million dollar lottery. I'm going to be so rich!

I know, I know. How do I know it's even true? It knew which house to come to, didn't it?

Oh, there's also a note that says not to tell anyone about it, but I figure no one will believe a story about my time-travelling printer anyway, so what's the harm?