The stove

“Let me get this straight,” Miss Tandy said, standing in front of the stove waiting for the water to boil – those British, they love their tea and scones – while Aaron sat on the edge of his chair, still in wonderment over being in the presence of a stage and film legend of the order that Miss Tandy represented. “I won’t win an Academy Award until I’m eighty years old? I have to wait another forty-three years?”

“Yes,” Aaron said. “But look on the bright side. When they announce your name, you’ll get a huge standing ovation.”

“And what do I look like?” the wide-eyed, cultured-voice Miss Tandy said.

“Like a queen. You’ll have white hair, pulled back into a single ponytail.”

“And you said you come from 2013 in San Francisco. Am I still alive?”

“Well,” Aaron said, “I’m not sure I should say this, but –“

Aaron felt his insides compress against his diaphragm, his head begin to vibrate, and his legs became weak under him. He heard a whirring sound descend from above, he saw smoke rise from the floor, and he felt himself spun into a vortex that surrounded him. Of a sudden the noise ceased and then he was flying through the black sky. White, yellow, and red lasers careened by him. The whirring sound rose again into Aaron’s head, smoke surrounded him, and he felt himself descending once again, until –

Aaron opened his eyes after a long while. He sat in a black chair in a black room with black-tiled floor and a black conference table in front of him. Four albino men sat at the table in front of him, bald, hairless, and wearing black silk t-shirts and slacks.

“Mr. Aardvark,” the albino on the far left said. “You’ve been called here to answer certain charges.”

“And what might those be?”

“You are charged with revealing the future to a Miss Tandy in 1947. Our investigators have determined that you revealed future events to her, and they intercepted you at the point you were going to reveal her date of death. How do you plead?”