Journalism Satire- Class WarsThunder! Lightning! A rift through time itself!

March 21^st, quarter past the 12^th hour of night, an anomaly occurred. The anomaly of…

Time travel.

I awoke to the sound of matter tearing and atoms splitting. A glimpse outside made me glaringly aware of the cause. Standing in my backyard was a young man, who looked 16. His pristine white crocs stood atop a heavily decked out—and slightly smoking—hoverboard. I watched in shock as he fanned the smoke away with a baseball fishing cap before he looked up and waved at me.

I ran downstairs and engaged in conversation with him. He said his name was Rowdy Chewer, which I quickly moved past because I don’t care much for formalities, especially when people suddenly appear in my backyard. What I wanted was answers and he was wasting time.

He explained that he was sent back from the year 2034 in hopes to “Stop the big bad fights, ya know?”

I listened in disbelief. I asked how this was possible, how had he managed to create a time traveling hoverboard? He shrugged, “Watching them TikTok’s.” I nodded, at least something useful still existed in the future. Asking for further information proved unhelpful, mostly because I couldn’t understand the future technological terms.

So, I asked him to clarify what he meant by “The big bad fights”.

“Sure thing, man,” he answered. For someone sent back in time he seemed relatively calm, and he casually put his hands in his Supreme hoodie’s pocket as he spoke.

“It started when those upperclassmen of ’25 kicked off the B.U.L.L.Y.I.N.G rally or something. I was a Freshy, so I don’t remember too well, but what I do know is that the big dogs didn’t understand the assignment, ya know? Totally laid it thick on the Softies. Swirlies, wedgies, stuff you’d see in those High School Musical movies, only no one was happy or dance-y, ya feel me? Dark times for Carver, dark times… We didn’t know who would strike next. DIM was tp’d by DP. Cos was wiped out in a food fight. Yeah… dark times bruh.”

A tell-tale story of war briefly crossed his face before he shrugged and looked back at me to continue.

“Listen, I crashed and now I gotta dash. The flux capacitor isn’t yet perfected, so I had about six mins tops to get back.”

I nodded and he hopped back onto the hoverboard, rotating clockwise twelve times. An electric blue bolt of electricity encircled the device and began to hum with life.

“Spread the word, fam. Whatever you do, don’t let that B.U.L.L.Y.I.N.G program—”

And with another ear-splitting crack and blinding white flash, him and his baseball fishing hat were gone.

He left only the charred outline of the Tesla logo to prove of his travel.