It was just an old, leather-bound diary tucked away in a dusty attic corner until I opened it and saw my name on the cover. The pages were filled with entries I hadn’t written yet  dates, events, even warnings about things that hadn’t happened. At first, I thought it was a prank, but the details were too precise predicting moments from just days ahead, even describing conversations I hadn’t had.

The most chilling part was the last entry, dated two weeks from now. It described me trapped in a place I didn’t recognize, desperate and alone, pleading for someone to find this diary and change what was coming. I’m torn between disbelief and dread. If this diary is truly from my future, then everything I thought I controlled might already be lost. And the clock is ticking. Shutdown123