500 hundred years What do I put in here Oh goodness I fear Crying big tears

In a small town nestled amidst rolling hills, a curious and imaginative child named Oliver had a grand idea. He had recently learned about time capsules in school and was captivated by the concept of preserving a piece of the present to be discovered by future generations. Determined to leave his mark on the world, Oliver decided to create a time capsule of his own, to be opened in 500 years.

With a sense of excitement and purpose, Oliver set out on a mission to gather items that he believed would best represent life in the present. He rummaged through his room, carefully selecting objects that held sentimental value or sparked his imagination.

First, he added a worn-out teddy bear, his faithful companion since he was a baby. The bear had seen it all - the tears, the laughter, and the countless adventures. Oliver believed it would be a comforting reminder of the innocence and joy of childhood.

Next, he placed a handwritten letter, pouring his heart and thoughts onto the pages. In it, he shared his dreams, his fears, and his hopes for the future. Oliver wondered what the world would be like in 500 years, and if his words would resonate with those who discovered them.

In a whimsical twist, Oliver decided to include a collection of his favorite jokes and riddles. He believed that laughter was a universal language that could bridge the gap between generations. He giggled as he imagined the surprise and amusement of those who would unravel the mysteries of his silly jokes centuries later.

Oliver’s eyes then fell upon a small jar of colorful buttons. Each button had a story - a memory attached to it. Some were from his grandmother’s sewing box, others were found during treasure hunts in the park. He hoped that these buttons would evoke a sense of nostalgia, reminding future generations of the simple pleasures found in the everyday.

As he continued to fill the time capsule, Oliver’s thoughts turned to the future. He wondered what technological marvels awaited humanity in 500 years. With a mischievous grin, he included an old smartphone, a relic of the past. He imagined the astonishment of those who would hold it, comparing it to the sleek and advanced devices of their time.

Lastly, Oliver added a handful of wildflower seeds, carefully tucked into a small pouch. He wanted to gift the future with the beauty and resilience of nature, a reminder of the importance of preserving the environment for generations to come.

With the time capsule completed, Oliver buried it in a secret spot in his backyard, marking the location with a small stone. He felt a sense of accomplishment and wonder, knowing that his small contribution would be a bridge connecting the past and the future.

As the years passed, Oliver’s time capsule remained buried, hidden beneath layers of soil and time. The world changed, technology advanced, and humanity evolved. And 500 years later, a group of archaeologists stumbled upon the buried treasure.

With great anticipation, they carefully unearthed the time capsule, revealing its long-forgotten contents. As they examined each item, a sense of wonder and connection filled their hearts. They marveled at the teddy bear, the handwritten letter, and the collection of jokes, finding solace and familiarity in the past.

But it was the wildflower seeds that truly captured their attention. The world had changed, and nature had suffered. The seeds became a symbol of hope, a reminder of the importance of preserving the environment and nurturing the beauty that lay within it.

Inspired by Oliver’s time capsule, the archaeologists embarked on a mission to restore the balance between humanity and nature. They shared his story, his dreams, and his hopes for the future, igniting a spark of change that would ripple through the generations to come.

And so, Oliver’s time capsule not only provided a glimpse into the past but also became a catalyst for a brighter and more sustainable future. His simple act of curiosity and creativity left an indelible mark, reminding humanity of the power of connection, imagination, and the enduring legacy of a child’s dreams.

A ragged mouth ripped from the earth. Massive, gnarled black walnut’s roots gaped back at Connie. She squatted over the hole reaching. Entangled in the upturn roots, a swollen wood box peeked out. Hurricane Helen had strengthened over the Atlantic before hitting the east coast.

Connie brushed at the clods of mud. The soften wood box broke away in her hands in sweet rotten chunks. Tightly she held the contents of her time capsule. Gus had convinced Dad to evacuate to his place ahead of the storm.

Suddenly Connie was nine years old. Sister Thomas had her class do an assignment on what they would put in a time capsule. Pink cheeked and earnest, Sister Thomas was one of the younger nuns at St. Barnacus’. The whole class had written sappy things except for Connie. The black walnut tree that once held a tire swing, that gave ammunition for endless combat with Gus, that withered away in her family home’s overgrown backyard have fallen over into the garage.

Nine year old Connie had written for her assignment that she would include her memoir because she would be a famous author one day and her fans would get a kick out of her undiscovered masterpiece. Other kids wrote about adding their favorite matchbook car or Barbie to give future kids a smile. Other kids wrote about adding a rosary or a bible to show the importance of God’s love. Other kids were lying idiots to nine year old Connie. The sweet smell after a rain lay across grownup Connie’s shoulders.

Connie turned the squishy composition notebook over in her fingers. Glittery unicorn stickers sparkled in the mud. She tried to remember that last time she had written anything more than a grocery list. Sister Thomas had given her a gold star for use of that week’s vocabulary and sheer gumption. Connie remembered making Gus dig the hole to bury her cigar box time capsule with her pink ribbon tied memoir, one of mommy’s rosaries, a random picture of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, and Gus’ favorite Matchbox car.

Clutching her treasures, Connie stood. In the distance an ambulance siren sounded.

“I don’t know babe it looks pretty bad,” Dan said climbing over broken branches and the remains of her dad’s pickup.

“Yeah but there’s still time,” Connie said.

Prologue

Samia finished packing her last item into the box.

“There!” she said.

Picking it up, she walked out of her bedroom to her backyard. She buried the time capsule two feet deep. Then she put something in an envelope—a map of her backyard, with the address printed at the top. An x marked the spot where the capsule lay buried, where messy writing noted it was ‘2ftdeep’. She kept it near her for 50 years.

One day, when she was very old, and fifty years had passed, she called her grandson over. “What is it, Grandsmia Samia?” he asked, her nickname he’d invented.

She handed him the envelope. “Lincoln, fifty years from now, I need you to open this. Follow what it says.”

Lincoln nodded. “I’d do anything for you, Grandma!”

“Thank you, Lincoln, I love you.” Samia patted her five year old grandson on the head.

Fifty years later, Lincoln opened the envelope. He examined the map. “Huh,” he said, looking at the address, “this house is abandoned now. I could go there.” So he drove over. But when he started digging, he found nothing, for time and weather had shifted the capsule and shoved on deeper. It now was three feet deep.

Huh, Lincoln thought. Must’ve been a fluke. He went home and threw it out, but he missed the paper recycling and behind the bin, the paper lay for several years.

Eventually, Lincoln moved out to a senior residence. The next movers tore the house half apart. They smoked and kept the doors open, letting in the cold winter chill. One day, the paper, pushed by a strong gust of wind, sailed out the door. As it floated back -ironically- to Samia’s neighbourhood, a little boy, named Sam, looked at it and jumped for it. He looked at the 130 1/2 year old map and understood immediately.

“I’ll go get treasure,” he thought excitedly, not for the greed, as a adult would, but so he could give it to his friends and have fun exploring! He ran to his friends and told them about the paper. His friend Joe looked at the map. “Where is it?” He asked.

Sam looked at the paper again. “#32 on Brown street.”

“Ooh!” His friend Amy squealed. “That’s the haunted place!”

“That’s so cool,” Graham said.

Soon they had arrived at Samia’s house. Gulping at the creepiness of the deserted house with the peeling paint, they headed around the back, climbing easily over the fence, which had rotting wood and creaked in the wind.

“Here’s the spot,” announced Sam. “Let’s dig!”

Like crazy things they dug and dug. After one foot Amy asked, “hey, how deep is it?”

Sam checked the map. Just as the box had been pushed deeper by time, the map had been smudged. “ uh… four feet.”

They dug and dug. At three and a half feet deep, they unearthed a small shoebox.

Graham looked at it. “Woah, this really is old. Nike went out of business years ago!”

They opened the box and were met with a cloud of dust. “Ick,” Amy cried. “Earwigs!”

After brushing off the bugs they peered inside and pulled out the ancient objects from the early 21st century.

“A book…” Graham lifted a battered thick paperback from the box. “‘Pax’,” he read.

Sam picked up a very old American kids flag football trophy. “Cool, they played football back then!”

They sifted through more stuff, which included a journal full of drawings and notes, a diary, a bag of sour keys and a rock collection. —oh, and an autographed photo of Patrick Mahomes, and a book that Samia herself had written.

While the boys wowed and looked through the journals and books, Amy checked the box. There, in the bottom, was a piece of paper held down by a amethyst stone enclosed in a see-through locket on a golden chain.

Amy picked up the paper and put the necklace on. As she read the handwritten note on the card she felt her hands get sweaty and her heartbeat quicken.

“You guys?..you might wanna read this,” she said.

The boys moved to join her, holding the box.

The paper said,

Hello. I am Samia. You may not know me, but all of this is my stuff. I hope you like it.

Listen, this necklace right here is the most important thing in the box. It allows you to travel through time. The instructions to use it are on the back.

Use the necklace well. Perhaps you could visit me, even.

I hope you enjoy this.

-Samia.

“Cool, so we can travel through time,” said Sam.

Graham was amazed. “Wow! I wish we could go visit her.” He reached over to Amy’s neck as he said this and rapped the stone.

Amy was checking the back of the card. “Um, Graham, you may not want to say that…”

From #32 on Brown street came a big bang and a flash of light. The neighbours, always suspecting something going on in the creepy haunted house, peeked over their fences.

But all they saw was a hole in the ground where the box had sat, and a piece of paper that declared if you wanted to use the stone, declare you wish to go somewhere and it shall take you there floating down to the ground.

To be continued…

Dear people from later Maybe you are my great great grand children Or maybe you don’t know me at all Yet I’m writing to you And I’m offering you this

Dear people from later Let me explain what is here You probably have no idea what this is A poem, written on paper with a pencil (I put one in there just in case)

I put in there an mp3 player It’s a little bit old But my mom won’t buy me a new phone if I give mine And I put all my favorite songs I hope your still can hear

I aussi have you a book It’s one I wrote. About the future and aliens I hope you like it Maybe it will be like Vernes who has guessed the future Maybe not.

I pour a twinkle in there Just because it’s delicious And my favorite food And that’s it I hope you enjoy

(so this isn't exactly in line with the promt, but I wanted practice for a sort of narrative essay style because I'm working on my college essays and I don't really know what I'm doing.)

Time capsules are a unique form of preservation. Most forms, whether fossils, or pictures, or diaries, are focused. They capture one shape, or moment, or thought process. A time capsule, however, allows for many different moments, people, and ideas. It's a marble cake of narratives. It paints a picture with many different brushes and colors. And, most importantly, it is made of human collaboration. So it's safe to say I have an appreciation for time capsules. But while I love them very much, I have never actually created a time capsule. I have always wanted to, but the weight of the capsule has always made me nervous. When you make one, you are highlighting the most important things to you- the things you want someone who never knew you to know. So while I've never made one, I like to imagine what my perfect time capsule would look like. When making a time capsule, there are three important pieces: location, material, and contents. Each of the pieces has to have value, and each value usually compliments the other two. Not challenging at all, I know. So, first. Location. In house-hunting, location is the number one most valued part of a house. In a time capsule, I would say it is probably second. For my location, I would bury my time capsule deep under the twisted roots of my tree growing up. Although I grew up in many houses, this tree is at the center of many of my childhood fantasies. Playing under its branches, I was an explorer, or fairy, or pirate, or king. (that is, until my Mom called for dinner). So where else to put a collection of my memories than under the tree that nurtured many of them. Second, then, is material. This one is last in memory but first in durability. Place it where you want for importance. My material would probably be some kind of metal, engraved with the words "this time capsule contains the memories of one [my name], buried in 2023 C.E." and then the star chart in case C.E. is no longer the known time keeper. What can I say, I'm a pragmatist. Third, and finally, are the contents. I will pick five, but know that that number is subject to grow along with my age. My first content is a picture. It is a picture of a little me, grinning up at the camera with chocolate around my face after I ate too much in a fit of excitement. On the back, it lists the date and a bit about my family and childhood. My second is another picture. It is of me now, one of my senior photos taken recently. I look worlds away from the kid with chocalate smeared on her face. The back talks of that difference, and of my plans for the future. My third memory is a dictonary that I used growing up. It has colorful pictures and pages worn from flipping through it. A letter, pressed into the front pages, inscribes the dictonaries' importance to me. The games my mother taught me to play with it. My craving for knowledge, books, and words. How it taught me to communicate and lead with curiosity. The fourth is a stuffed animal that my best friend won for me at the local fair. Its letter describes her in detail: her smile, her laugh, her stubborn personality. It details the day we met, the night she won the felt plushie for me. It ends with the hope that future readers have someone to love as I love her. The fifth and final momento changes four or five times. It switches between an acceptance letter, an article on the pandemic that stuck in 2020, my favorite, furiosly annotated novel, my diary, and finally my sketchbook. The book has drawings, colored art, and paintings. each is dated and each is etched in love and care. A sticky note- neon green- adorns it. It says only that this sketchbook contains my throughts and emotions throughout the years, and begs the discoverer to look over it with care. Five-hundred years later, it will be found. Or maybe not. It might be found in five years, when developers tear up the tree seeking to turn my neighborhood into a bright new shopping center. Who knows. Whatever happens, whoever finds it, I hope it will be found and cherished. Because time capsules are not a solitary act- even when made alone. They are an ode to the past and a proclaimation for the future, all wrapped in one. They are not made to be buried- they are made to be found. And whoever finds mine will know a little more about the life I lived and the world they inherited. And maybe they'll stop and sit in reverance of that human connection. That is why I dream of my perfect time capsule.

Dear future:

If you are reading this it is not too late. Watch your back. They are taking over. Smash all of your technology, they’re listening, watching.

The government use it, the technology. Don’t listen. Resist the brain washing. Resist. Please, for the sake of humanity.

I am writing this out of fear for the future. No one will listen. I hoped you might.

Read a book, draw a picture, play tag. GET OF YOUR PHONES.

I turned Siri off. They’re always listening, watching. When I tried to tell my mum she got me anxiety medication.

Everyone thinks I’m crazy.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.

They don’t believe me. No one believes me. It’s all a trick a lie. The government are using the technology to brainwash us. They haven’t thought it through.

They made a robot a year ago, last month it started a conversation with another AI, in a language unknown to us. They couldn’t decode it. It’s getting out of hand. They will take over. They will overthrow the government. Spread the message. Make them listen. Help us.

HELP THEM. HELP US. FOR THE SAKE OF HUMANITY AS WE KNOW IT.

My parents helped me bury it in the backyard, but they didn’t know what was inside. I had written about the current historical events. You see, I love writing. I have been preparing this essay for about a year. I have been writing a little bit everyday. I’ll show you how to do it: First, research about the news from different points of views. Then, write a little entry each day, like a dairy. Explaining the news from the different points of view. After a year, you can collect all your entries and have a book! For future generations!

One prompt to rule them all

…

Arnt these shackles beautiful, “Yes I made them myself when I saw you”

Isn’t this gold band shiny, “I sacrificed my soul so you could have it”

Isn’t this purity immaculate, “I sacrificed my longing so you can have it”

…

I hope that they care I hope they see I hope they understood Or hope to

I hope the want to know I hope they wonder I hope they find this time capsule I hope that they care