Thomas hadn’t expected to be alive when the town’s time capsule was opened.

The whole point of secreting himself away in there just before the burial had been to die quietly somewhere alone, out of sight– and right under everyone’s noses, or at least their feet. A body that wouldn’t be found for two hundred years, and not even looked for, probably. Who would have cared? But imagine all the headlines when they opened the capsule and there were his bones among the letters to the future and the photographs of the past and the seventeen colorful dioramas made by Ms. Kellerman’s fourth-graders, imagining what life would be like in 2251. Nobody would ever forget him after that, never. Never, never. Nobody would ever forget him, and nobody would ever remember Sheila, he was sure of it. She wouldn’t have done anything nearly so bold or memorable. She was the boring one, not him.

“Your death is the most valuable thing you will ever own. Spend it wisely.”

Still being alive as the light and the fresh air came pouring in was even better, wasn’t it? That would be even more of a shock, even more to be remembered, wouldn’t it? And sure enough, gasps! Screams! Murmurs, shuffling feet as people backed away in a panic– or came rushing inwards for a closer look.

Really, though, no one was more shocked than Thomas himself. How was he still alive? He’d drifted out of consciousness in his own CO2 maybe five minutes after climbing into the capsule, he hadn’t heard any of the winch-motor’s whirring, the four chains clinking as they lowered him into the pit–he hadn’t heard any of the mayor’s speech or any of the applause as the steamshovel began pouring the dirt in big rooty clumps. He hadn’t heard himself being dug up or lifted out, either– those gasps and screams were the first thing into his head as the clean oxygen lulled him back into consciousness.

Perhaps he’d entered some sort of suspended animation or hibernation state, like bees do. Or maybe it was more like falling into ice-cold water, and the metabolism slows down so much that the body can’t even be bothered to properly die. Maybe it was time-travel. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was just a miracle.

“...Has it been two hundred years already…?” he murmured groggily, and he was very happy with that; it was a great first thing to say, all the news-articles would be quoting it, not a doubt.

He hadn’t opened his eyes yet. Hot daylight was burning its way through his lids, and he couldn’t bring himself to open them, yet, and he wanted to savor the mystery, the surprise, for just a moment longer.

“...A bicentennial nap really does a fellow good…” he said, a little louder, and he gave a yawn, and a stretch, and now, now he was ready to open his eyes. He blinked, he squinted, he blinked again, the world came into focus, and–

“Thomas…” muttered Sheila, frowning, “...what the hell are you doing in the time capsule?”

There was Mark on her arm with his stupid face and his stupid shirt, and he was also the boring one. They were both boring ones. He and Sheila were perfect for each other, perfectly boring together. “How are you still alive after so long?” Thomas wondered– how was everyone alive after so long? He could see clearly now, all the people above him, circled around the mouth of the pit. There was the mayor. There were the dozen-or-so reporters who Thomas had spotted with their microphones and notepads as he’d gone sneaking around to the backstage area. There was the woman with the feathered hat, which was impossible to miss. There was Ms. Kellerman and her whole fourth-grade class, all seventeen of them. “This… this is impossible… it’s 2251… It’s been two hundred years…”

“It’s been twelve minutes,” said Mark, with his stupid, boring voice. “The mayor’s daughter forgot to add her teddy bear to the time capsule.”

There was the mayor’s daughter, standing next to her father with her tiny pink teddy bear clutched tight in her arms. She didn’t look shocked or frightened or confused– she was giggling at the silly man who’d tried to bury himself. Why would anyone ever do a silly thing like that? Plus, she was feeling a lot better now about putting Hubert in the time capsule. She hadn’t so much forgotten to put him in as decided not to until her father noticed and told the crew to start digging everything up again. She’d been worried that Hubert would be lonely waiting all the way till 2251 by himself, or that he wouldn’t be able to survive underground without her looking after him, but she wasn’t worried anymore. He’d have someone to keep him company.