Feel Good, Inc.

The instructions were supposed to be quite simple to follow, but to Charlie the line drawings could have been hieroglyphs for all the sense they made. In frustration, he tore open the packaging and pushed out one capsule after another, swallowing each with a large mouthful of water.

After a few minutes, his anxiety began melting away, replaced by a pleasant euphoria he hadn't felt in ages. Whatever had been bothering him no longer mattered.

Someone called out from a great distance, using a name he didn't recognize. They seemed very upset. He held out his last few pills invitingly.

Relic

They found the capsule buried in the desert. Its outer shell consisted of some unknown material, a shiny metal that was alien in origin. Opening it with their bare hands proved impossible and smashing it against the rocks barely left a scratch.

Many theories arose as to where the container came from. Perhaps it was a message from the stars. One wiseman hypothesized it was a relic from the distant past. The future seemed more likely.

When they finally pried the lid off, the language seemed familiar but the words were largely unintelligible:

Crispus Attucks Elementary School Class of ‘25.

Vacation 2250

Still a little queasy, she stepped out of the ‘Beach Hut,’ glad the temporal capsule was not constrained to contemporary hygiene amenities.

Feeling vulnerable in her figure-hugging woollen tank suit – despite built-in modesty shorts – she moved to the water’s edge and marvelled at the carefree gambolling of the beachgoers: naive inhabitants of the Interwar Era, taking time off from the trials of the Great Depression.

Her ocular bioscan implant picked him out from the crowd: Tommy.

She grinned at the one-piece swimsuit her great-grandfather wore.

Translucent seawater free of corrosive algae was an emotional revelation.

She hadn’t expected to cry.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid