[ WP ] In the present day scientists find a strange capsule containing old newspapers underground . The headlines include a failed assassination attempt on JFK .

The mayor, his aides, and several construction workers recruited for the cause dig and dig. The rain continues to sprinkle down, but without enough intensity that anyone holds umbrellas or wears raincoats. After the heat of the last two months, everyone is quietly enjoying the cool mist that seems to float in the air. 
 
 They dig for about five or six minutes, the mayor tapping out after the first minute or so, and the aides shortly after. One of the construction workers, a road-tarrer from the Roads Department, finally shoves his shovel down and hears a satisfying clang. 
 
 “ Here it is! ” The mayor is ecstatic with good cheer, his cheeks red and his brow sweaty. The workers clear off the top of the cement cap, finding the two rings embedded. The excavator roars to life as two workers attach chains around the bucket of the excavator. The driver pulls some levers, and the engine groans. The cement is lifted into the air, then plopped unceremoniously on the ground next to the hole. 
 
 The time capsule is metal box about the size of a filing cabinet drawer. On the top, a corroded placard states “ City of Wylie 1966 - DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2016! ” 
 
 Two of the workers reach down in the hole, pull the box up, grunting with effort. Surprisingly, the sheet metal doesn ’ t seem rusted, even though two years ago, the whole grassy area behind the library was covered with six inches of water after the floods. It ’ s dirty, but as rivulets of water form on it from the rain, it looks like it could have been painted and buried yesterday. 
 
 Someone hands the mayor a pair of bolt cutters. “ Today, we take a look back into the past. Maybe not far, maybe some of you might even remember what life was like back then. But we look back nonetheless and we ask: what was different? And how can we learn from it? ” 
 
 The mayor has much more of his speech prepared, it ’ s obvious, but he ’ s always been a master at playing a crowd. He knows they didn ’ t come here to talk, and everyone knows they ’ ll read his OpEd in the paper tomorrow anyways, so he slides the blades of the bolt cutters around the shaft of the old Masterlock, and just like he ’ s cutting hair, snip, the lock is undone. 
 
 The first thing that gets pulled out is a children ’ s game. The box is yellowed somewhat, mostly where the white lettering was, where it reads “ Spy Games ” in an art deco font. On the front, a cartoon Castro is yelling into a red phone, and a lightning bolt goes from the phone to a mustachioed Russian man ’ s phone. Between them, a man with a high-and-tight haircut and black-rimmed glasses wears headphones, and another lightning bolt zig-zags up from the one between the Russian and the Cuban and into his headphone wire. 
 
 “ They can ’ t make games like this anymore! ” The mayor doesn ’ t seem to read everyone ’ s confusion. Someone in the back says “ I don ’ t remember Milton Bradley making a game like that. ” 
 
 The mayor does, however, read the back of the box. “ ‘ There ’ s a Cuban agent loose! Who is it? Monitor the communications between the mysterious Senor Comunista and his Russian handler to find out where he ’ ll strike next! ’ Wow! I can ’ t... ” He trails off for a minute, searching for something to say. “ I don ’ t know. It was a different time, I guess! ” 
 
 Next, they pull out a folded piece of paper. When it ’ s unfolded, it looks like one of those handouts they have at every high school football game. The sponsors, the teams playing, the rosters. Nobody has ever seen one, however, that has a listing for “ TONIGHT ’ S EXECUTION! ” The mayor looks it over, and furrows his brow. 
 
 The next is a newspaper. November 22, 1963. “ ASSASSINATION PLOT AGAINST JFK UNCOVERED! ” Below that, the sub-headline says “ Cuban Agent Provacteur, Lee Oswald, Wounded in Dallas! ” 
 
 The crowd, small as it is, begins to murmur amongst each other. Maybe there was a game where you had to find the Cuban sleeper agent by monitoring his phone calls. Maybe the flier was misprinted, or put in there as a prank. The newspaper, though, wrapped in cloudy plastic... everyone knows that JFK was assassinated. Everyone knows that he was shot by Jack Ruby. Everyone knows that he was probably a lone gunman. 
 
 The mayor seems to run his eyes over the article for a long time, even going so far as to open the cellophane and pull the paper out with no regard for the rain. He reads aloud. “ Oswald, who has in the past professed himself a Communist, has admitted to being trained and instructed by a Cuban sharpshooter before returning to America. ” His voice cracks, he smacks his lips noisily. “ The CIA, a government agency dedicated to rooting out and defeating communism whenever it can, has had Oswald in interrogations as it attempts to learn more about the attempt on the President ’ s life. ” 
 
 One of the aides reaches into the box, pulls out a frame. “ For dedicated service in the war between America and Cuba, and valor above and beyond the call of duty during the Battle of Havana, the US Army posthumously awards the Silver Star to… ” 
 
 The crowd is reaching into the box now, pulling out whatever they can. A Pez dispenser that looks like Castro, but when you tilt his head back, his eyes roll up into cartoon X ’ s. A bloodstained American flag with fifty-two stars. A book about how to tell if your child might be a Communist. A picture of the old football field, the one that was here until it was torn down in the 80s, but instead of a group of linebackers on the 50-yard line, there ’ s a gallows. 
 
 “ I don ’ t remember this, ” the mayor says, reading the paper. “ I don ’ t remember this at all. ‘ Congress is currently deliberating on declaring war on the nation of Cuba after this blatant state-sponsored attempted assassination. This heinous act will surely weigh on the shoulders of Senators and Representatives as they arrive at a decision on whether or not to invade. ’ ” 
 
 Someone has found a gun inside. It looks, to one of the older fellows in the crowd, like a Tokarev, but he can ’ t ever remember seeing a Tokarev with Spanish engravings. It holds no bullets, and a piece of paper is scotch-taped to the grip. In neat, typewritten letters, it reads “ Pistol seized from Cuban sleeper agent following his apprehension by Lt. Frank Deller, Wylie Police, which led to the conviction and execution of the sympathizer. ” 
 
 A flyer, like you ’ d see posted on a telephone pole, that reads simply “ KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED AND YOUR LIPS SEALED - If you suspect a neighbor of being a sympathizer, report them to your local Hometown Council for Democracy! ” 
 
 A picture of a sad-eyed Dwight Eisenhower shaking hands with smartly-dressed men and police officers in the school gymnasium. 
 
 A button with a rusty back that says “ NOT IN MY AMERICA ”. 
 
 The mayor continues to read silently as the box is plundered. Under a nearby tent, a table full of catered barbecue from a local restaurant cools, unattended. The rain continues to float in the air, as if someone has stopped time. 
 
 Somewhere in the crowd, an old woman sobs.
