You (18 yr old Highschool Senior) find it after school

You toss your bookbag across the room as you walk in, the bag landing with a muffled thump on your bed. With an exasperated groan, you slump into your computer chair. It's Friday, damn it, why do you have to write this paper now?

Because if you don’t start now, you'll just keep putting off like you always do. Like you've been doing.

Begrudgingly, you admit your grades could use some work and Ms. Carleton's English class is hardly an exception. You pry yourself up from the chair and snatch up your bookbag with a huff, dragging it over to your desk to dig through its contents. You fish out the book you’re writing the paper on, leaving the book bag on the floor by your feet.

You were supposed to have taken the time to read the book on your own time over the last few weeks, discussing it in class with your peers as you all read through it together. In reality you haven’t even read the first page; you've spent class over the last few weeks mostly fucking around on your phone. You open the book to the last page to see how much reading you're gonna have to cram into this weekend: page 645.

Maybe Ms. Carleton won’t notice if you copy someone else's paper? Hell, you can probably just find a paper someone's already written online and hand that in to her. Will she notice? Will she check?

Probably. And again, your grade really needs a win or your next report card is gonna read more like an obituary. Maybe you can find a synopsis somewhere and work off of that. What exactly did the paper need to be on again?

You reach back down into your book bag, feeling around inside for your notebook from class. Hopefully, you were actually paying enough attention in class to write down what exactly this assignment is. Your fingers blindly brush across something roughly the same size and shape as your notebook; what you pull out, however, is decidedly NOT your notebook. A plain, manila envelope.

You can’t think of when or where the envelope could have found its way into your bag, you certainly don’t remember picking it up. Caught in curiosity’s grip, you tear open the envelop over your desk and empty its contents onto your desk. Out of the envelope comes a battered Dictaphone tape recorder and a neatly folded letter.

You toss the now empty envelope aside and pick up the letter first, carefully unfolding it to read:

“To the one who will find this;

Here's a present, just for you.

Coming right from the abyss;

May all your wishes come true.”

The letter reads like a poem or haiku, though you can't fathom it's meaning. Your only clue is the Dictaphone from the envelope: a dented and scratched, black and silver tape recorder. It's the kind of thing you would expect to see in a RadioShack ad from the 80s.

You take some time to familiarize yourself with the recorder, turning it over and inspecting it. While the embossed labels make the buttons fairly self-explanatory, you don’t see way to inset batteries or plug it in to charge; furthermore, you can’t find a way to eject the tape.

Your sudden curiosity streak still running strong, you rewind the tape to the beginning to hear what, if anything, was recorded on it. Over the old, crackly speakers comes the voice of an elderly gentlemen.

“Upon the completion of this recording, the Dictaphone will have left my possession to find its next Master and deliver him this message…”

The old man in the recording pause for a gentle cough, taking a sip of water to clear his throat before continuing his final recording.

“To the Dictaphone’s next Master: Greetings from another reality! Who I am is of little import. What is important is the device you are currently holding. The Dictaphone is, by far, the most powerful object in the entire Multi-verse.”

“To hopefully help you save a tremendous amount of time, know that anything you record, no matter how improbable or impossible, will become reality and, furthermore, only YOU will know how things used to be. The Device will modify the past, present, and future as you dictate, even if it has to bend time and space to do it.”

“I realize how this all must sound to you. I, like you, came upon the Dictaphone seemingly at random; though MY predecessor didn’t bother to leave me with any sort of guidance. Regardless, I learned of the device's power and, after some trial and error, used it to shape my very own paradise. Now that I no longer have any need for it, I am electing to pass on this boon to another.”

“I hope you believe this message because if you don’t then you will regret it the rest of your life. Give it a try, at least…”

The message comes to an end with a click, the tape running out. If this is part of some kind of joke then you don’t get the punchline. “So, what, are you supposed to make my wishes come true?” The Dictaphone, as expected, doesn’t reply.