SHORT STORY: "A Voice from Time" By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

“A VOICE FROM TIME”

By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

    The children gathered quietly. The low murmur of their conversation mixed with the sounds of nature; a bird in the distance seamlessly matched a girl’s voice, the spring breeze enveloped them all. No one gave much thought as to why they were there. They stood, as most would, at attention -- the lessons of discipline had been instilled in them long ago. Children were to obey, not disappoint their so-called sage elders.
    As they stood, waiting, one boy began to gaze at the deep blue sky; he counted the clouds wafting through the expansive azure space. Another boy, slightly older, began fumbling with a strand of thread that unraveled in his pocket. He counted the number of times he could wrap the piece of unseen string around his finger. Another child, a girl, stared down at the flecks of gold in her fading nail polish; her mind critiqued the drab paint as she leisurely contemplated different shades and styles.
    Time lingered.
    No one spoke, they just stood with placid grins etched into weathered faces. They maintained the illusion of interest, they did not want to disappoint. They scanned their surroundings -- surveiled the emptiness of the field seeming to stretch for miles. They thought of the buildings that once stood in the spot -- the lives that passed through its corridors, the voices that echoed through its courtyards. All of that was gone. All except the time capsule.

    Its chipped and blackened exterior made it an odd sight in such a vast setting. Its lettering, once inscribed in marble, was almost worn smooth. The date was still legible, as was one of the star shaped symbols that denoted a long gone celebratory time in America’s past.
    They had been awaiting this day, their anticipation kept them in quiet agony, but now as the seconds to the grand moment ticked on, they became disinterested. Their attention and imagination were both exhausted. When the little man from the industrial council finally arrived, his hands clutching the long silver tool, the children were slowly awash in glee.
     He stepped forward, cleared his throat, wiped the transparent beads of sweat from his brow, and said a few words that few were able to hear. He turned his back to them, slid the tool into one of the gaps in the charred brick, and pried the whole thing open. One boy thought it would be more difficult, more complex; he was aghast at its ease and simplicity.
    The little man moved aside the lid, fingers turning black from the soot covered bricks; he brushed off his hands, took two translucent gloves from his pocket, and slid them on. As he went to reach for the contents of the now opened time capsule, he look in stunned amazement. Inside of its rectangular well was one once white envelope. It rested, solemnly, on the bottom of the metal lined well.
     He reached for it, delicately lifted it, blew a century of dust off it, and opened it while the children looked on. He pulled out a letter -- a single sheet of sepia colored paper with a single word printed on one of its sides. He held it close to his face; inspecting the lettering with curiosity and confusion. The children stood with baited breathe. He cleared his throat, looked at the children and told them what it said.
    “Imagine.”

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.