Alinyaalethia

And...we're off! It's completely bonkers, this round, so have fun with it, eschew the box and think in new and exotic ways :)

Matthew blinked at the almanac. There was the seeds for planting, as it should be. And the moon cycle. Nothing odd about that. Chance of rain...He blinked again. That couldn't be right. But there it was, plain as the nose on his face. 'Predictive text.' Whatever that meant. Scheduled to start making suggestions in...2019.

It made no sense. Never mind it was years away. Predictive text? Due to be making suggestions? About what? To whom? He closed the book, uneasily. He was seeing things. Had to be.

But no. It was still there in the morning. An early morning, granted, but morning. The sunlight streamed pinkly through the windows. Anne would have a lovely turn of phrase for it. Anne. Now there was a thought. She had a way with strange things, didn't she? Well, Matthew would run the almanac past her, see what she made of it.

He waited until Marilla had gone out for the day. Somehow getting Marilla mixed up in the almanac conundrum with its curious phrases sat badly with him. She wouldn't like it. But Anne, well, Anne had so many strange turns of phrase of her own that it was only reasonable to ask her opinion on the almanac with its ambiguous observation, Predictive text to start, Skype, 2019.

He watched her read it, red eyebrows knitting together in perplexity as she went.

'It says something about Skype,' she said, tilting her freckled nose upwards to look at him. 'Could it be a mistake? Did they mean Skye?'

'Could be,' said Matthew. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. 'But then,' he said, 'why is it here?'

'Well,' said Anne, 'it says...predictive text? Suggestions?'

'I was sort of hoping you had an idea about that,' said Matthew. Anne hummed. She said, inspired, 'You don't think it predicts the future, do you? Oh, Matthew, wouldn't it be wonderful if it did?'

Without warning she spun round to look at him, starry-eyed, hands clasped tight under her chin. 'I bet it does,' she said, nodding for emphasis. 'Oh, Matthew, I'm sure of it. What do you think it predicts?'

'Well now,' said Matthew, wishing he felt half as sure as Anne sounded, 'I don't rightly know.'

'We must find out,' said Anne, still rapturous. 'Don't you think? Oh, Matthew, I know just the person!'

He wouldn't have admitted it for worlds, but he was beginning to think he might have made a mistake, bringing the almanac to Anne. Predicting the future sounded uncomfortably like the sort of thing Marilla disapproved of.

In any event, nothing could have prepared him for Anne's next, giddy suggestion. She unclasped her hands, linked Matthew's arm in hers, declared jubilantly, 'we simply must talk to Mrs. Lynde, don't you think?'

Matthew did not think, but it was of no consequence. Already she was waltzing him out the door and down the lane...