History is shared, not owned.
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Young Singapore boasted 60 years in the making–the island nation’s 60th birthday dawned on August the 8th with customary flypasts, parades, military gun salutes, and heartland fanfare.
Year-long celebrations.
And stamps.
An exhibition was organized for October that year to commemorate the once-in-a-lifetime event.
The exhibition was aglow with stories imprinted on rare paper.
Leonard Chua huddled with a crowd of curious philatelists at the Singapore Philatelic Museum–in the hopes of witnessing–and owning– a rare one.
A $2 commemorative edition, postmarked October 15, 2025–just five days into the future.
The stamp’s backdrop?
The scene he was part of.
And his face, twice magnified under the glass.
The avid collector had seen it all–fakes, misprints–but his own reflection staring at him–
with foreboding–
gave him an unfamiliar, paralyzing chill.
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Leonard tossed and turned in bed that night.The stamp and his reflection gnawed at his mind with unrelenting teeth.
He returned to the Philatelic Museum the next morning,
mentally wincing from its bite.
He needed to know–
How it knew.
The curator shook his head and offered a baffled smile.
“I don’t remember preparing such a stamp for exhibit. Are you sure it wasn’t some light trick?”
The kind-hearted lady was sheepish at not being of more help.
She pointed him to the security staff–and he went through the previous night’s footage.
A flicker.
Distortion–
Then static.
Where Leonard had once stood.
It was a childish prank– a hoax borne out of superstitious belief.
Until an envelope arrived in the mail.
With the same stamp peering from its corner–shimmering, then vanishing in a beat—
A wink.
As if it knew.
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But Leonard Chua was too avid a philatelist–with spotting imposter stamps as part of his training.
In the presence of the museum’s curator, he scanned the mysterious stamp under the meticulous glow of UV rays.
Truth literally came to purple light.
A microscopic watermark.
Two carefully scripted initials–T.S.
Capitals that transformed idle curiosity into obsession.
But the hallways of the archives echoed that the stamp wasn’t supposed to exist.
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October 15 dawned, but with an energy that stifled the happiest of souls.
Philatelic crowds gathered at the exhibition’s closing ceremony to bid the stamp–and its curious aura–a fitting goodbye.
At precisely 7:06 p.m.
— a blackout.
And an unnatural hush, consuming the room.
The postmark’s hour had arrived, giving flesh to an ominous prophecy.
The lights came to reluctant life–flickering and buzzing–a few minutes later.
Leonard scanned the room.
Light had returned–without the curator.
A new stamp had taken the place of Leonard’s gripping obsession.
This–postmarked October 20, 2025.
The backdrop?
Leonard.
Alone.
In an interrogation room.
History had made another print, with him as part of its cruel gallery.
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An investigation promptly followed–one which Leonard, of course, was an unwilling part of.
But it revealed truths–dark and painful.
The missing curator had been crafting prophetic stamps–with archival ink that produced prophetic art.
The ink created before it happened.
Futures none desired.
Like all collectors, he wanted a piece of history–but not to be part of that piece.
He sealed the stamp in a cream envelope and addressed it–
To the archives.
A year ahead.
Knowing that history was shared, not owned.
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Have you felt the urge to be a part of history? Do share in the comments.
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