The future is before us, hovering 50 feet above the dog park. It speaks in a high-pitched whistle so high-pitched that you have to strain to hear it, before it disappears like a whisper you thought you once heard in the night. The future is spinning slowly and rhythmically. Its unblinking eyes bore down on you as its unmoving mouth predicts—in accurate detail—your fate. Something about a man in a tan jacket carrying a deerskin suitcase. But surely you don't know what it means, right? Right? Because if you did, the sheriff's secret police would take you away to an undisclosed location and do unthinkable things. No one who has been taken by the secret police has been seen again. Sure, we get the feeling of unease as though someone is watching us from time to time, but of course that's not the spirits of victims of the sheriff's secret police's abject torture. No siree.
Nightvale residents have swarmed the dog park, and managed to do so without ever looking directly at the dog park, which we all know is illegal and forbidden. They instead keep their eyes on the future as they ask questions like:
"Who will I marry?"
"What kind of donut will I eat this Tuesday?"
"When will I die?" followed quickly by,"How many axe murderers will stab me?"
"Do pineapples exist, and will I eat one?", and "How will I fall asleep tonight?"
The future showed us just how much we don't know, and the amount of knowledge the omniscient future does know. How much do we know? We know enough to survive, but for how long? How long until we don't know anymore? Will we ever reach that point? I don't know. No one knows. Only the future knows.
More updates to come as this story progresses.