The Legacy We Wrote

As golden as the Wattle, so too we celebrate 50 years into the future...

         “Good morning, Story Couple. It’s another beautiful day in Perth. Would you like me to read the morning news to you?”

         “No, thanks.”

         “In that case, may I remind you that it’s National Wattle Day, the first day of spring. Would you like me to—”

         The Storymaster reached out to unplug the device. Just then, the Storymistress entered the living room, carrying a vase brimming with the very blossoms the machine had been rambling about. She chuckled as she set it on the dining table.

         “What are you so grumpy about? You helped design that thing in the first place, and now you can’t stand it? Tsk.”

         “A prototype… nearly twenty-five years ago,” he muttered. “Who knew it would become so darn sentient? It’s like it reads your mind before you even open your mouth.”

         “Things have definitely changed,” the Storymistress agreed, eyeing the bright yellow flowers fluttering in the breeze. Of all the varieties, she favored the silver wattle. Since moving to “the other end of the earth” (as her husband often teased), she had come to appreciate the flower’s history and why the nation cherished it so.

         Though robots could easily tend their garden, she preferred the joy of kneeling in the soil, coaxing each bloom to life with her own hands.

         “Besides, don’t forget our appointment. It’s a very special day for us… and for millions of others,” she said warmly, reaching for the remote.

         Despite the creaks of his joints, the Storymaster puffed out his chest.

         “As if I could forget,” he replied with a grin, joining her at the table.

         Before them, the room filled with soft light. Screens flickered into being, one after another, until they were surrounded. Faces appeared—hundreds, then thousands—old friends, new friends, people from every walk of life. And at the very center, the most beloved faces of all: their children and grandchildren, beaming as they cried, “Grandma! Grandpa!”

         Their joy was echoed by thousands of others—friends, readers, and fellow dreamers across the world. Many held signs and logos marked with the number 50.

         “Amazing, isn’t it?” whispered the Storymistress, her eyes brimming with tears. “To think our little project—back in the dark ages of pencil, paper, and a simple keyboard—would still be going strong after all these years.”

         “Most have turned to artificial intelligence,” the Storymaster mused, “but nothing replaces the power of the written word.”

         To emphasize the point, he lifted the package that had arrived the day before: a black and gold leather-bound book embossed with WDC at 50.

         Inside were hundreds of handwritten messages from members—many who had been there since the beginning. They shared stories of growth, of finding love, building families, even raising grandchildren—all because of the written word. For decades, the site had been a haven, a refuge when the real world grew unkind.

         The screens continued to flicker as more users joined the celebration, where their voices rose as one saying:

         “Thank you. Thank you, for everything.”




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Word Count: 502
Prompt: Write a story or a poem that is set on Sept 1 - 2050; exactly 25 years from now. Picture The StoryMaster and The StoryMistress celebrating *Wattle Day in Australia somewhere. Easily transformed in WDC-Day I must say. Do they manage to interest people to start writing in the way they do now? Or are they retired, spending their lives in a different way?
Written For: "Writer's Cramp wishes WDC Happy 25th!"