Time Capsule
Disclaimer: The general plot is from a story called "Finding Destiny," but I made my own changes, and the Outsiders belong to S.E. Hinton.
Sodapop Curtis just couldn't believe his brother sometimes. "Glory, Darry, you're a workaholic! You get one Saturday off, and how do you spend it? Cleaning!"
Darry shot Soda a nasty look. "I asked you and Pony three times to clean out the garage. You didn't do it, so now I am."
"Sorry, Darry, but Soda's right. You need a day off," Ponyboy interjected.
"So will you two help me?" Darry said, though without much hope. His brothers would surely have some excuse. They hated cleaning.
"Sorry, Darry, I have to work at the DX," Sodapop said truthfully. Ponyboy didn't have a job, nor did he have school on Saturdays. He thought frantically.
"I, um, uh, have, uh, an English theme to finish. It's due Monday," Ponyboy lied. He had turned in his English theme a month ago, but Darry didn't need to know that.
Darry frowned. "I thought you turned in that theme a month ago," he said suspiciously.
"Teacher assigned another one," Ponyboy said quickly. Darry sighed. "Fine, you two. I'll do this by myself."
Ponyboy and Sodapop had dashed off before Darry had even finished his sentence. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the horrors of their garage, which had been in disuse since their parents died.
He pulled the garage door up and stepped inside. He was immediately choked by the lingering stench of mothballs, dust and general disintegration of whatever horrors the garage held.
He started the arduous task of cleaning. It was a rough task, and the lady across the street clipping her hedges was getting on his nerves. The constant clip, clip, clip, clip drove him crazy!
Three hours later, the place was a lot cleaner. Of course, he had another few hours to go before he would be totally satisfied with the place.
Who knows? Darry thought pleasantly. Maybe I'll actually have room to put my car. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and continued to clean.
Pretty soon, he came upon a grimy glass jar. He almost threw it out when he saw the jar was filled with dirt. Then he heard the clinking.
He held the jar up to his ear and shook it experimentally. Clink, clink, clink. He took the jar outside to his front step, where he could see it better in the sunlight, and tried prying the lid off.
The lid was stuck. Darry tried turning it this way and that, banging it against the step, oiling, and even shouting at it, but it was still stuck. He sat back, frustrated. Then a thought struck him.
But that wouldn't work. Would it? He wondered. Might as well give it a try. He tried it. It worked. The lid twisted off smoothly.
"Huh," Darry said aloud. "Who knew Pony's hair grease would do the trick?"
Gingerly, he tipped the dirt out onto the step next to him. His reluctance to touch the dirt cost him one of the things that had been in the jar.
A thin glass tube rolled off the step and shattered on the next one down before Darry could stop it.
He carefully poked through the shards, but it had been empty. Even the top of the tube was sealed glass.
Poking around in the dirt, he found a large silver coin and a newspaper clipping. He looked at the coin first.
"One American DC, 75 cents" read the engraving on the coin. It didn't look like any coin he'd seen before. The engraved profile on the coin looked awfully familiar…
He looked at the newspaper. The headline read, "U.S. Government Okays Minting of the American DC."
Darry practically leapt out of his skin when he saw the calendar date on the newspaper. It was for May 17, 1976. That's ten years from now! Darry thought in astonishment.
It must be a joke. He bet it was Two-Bit or Soda or someone. It had to be his friends playing a joke.
He settled back to read the rest of the clipping:
"The American DC is the newest addition to United States currency, worth seventy-five cents. The American DC celebrates the fifth anniversary of the execution of Darrel Curtis.
Ten years ago, Mr. Curtis released a biological warfare virus into the air from his home in Tulsa, Oklahoma, killing all but 4 million worldwide and reducing all but the most medically advanced countries into total wastelands.
The virus, known as Destiny, is an invisible, odorless, deadly gas that is fatal within moments of inhaling.
Up until his execution, Mr. Curtis insisted his innocence, saying he found the virus in his garage while cleaning, yet was immune to the virus himself.
So far, the American DC has not been well received."
Darry nearly laughed out loud. This had to be some kind of joke. There was no such virus. It was probably Two-Bit.
Then, all of a sudden, the woman across the street clipping her hedges started coughing. The coughs grew louder, and she sank to the ground, her hedge clippers dropping from her hands.
She collapsed, now seemingly having a seizure, writhing in agony. Then she was still.
In the terrible silence that followed, Darry buried his head in his hands and cried.
The End.