Younger: Do you have to follow me everywhere?
Older: Look, trust me. I know better than you do. I’ve already live through it, remember?
Younger: So you say. As far as I know, you could be making up this whole time travel story. “I’m from the future. You have to do what I tell you.” Spooky! I don’t care how many times you tell me the sports scores, I still want to watch the game. I mean, you’re not helping, you’re making everything worse.
Older: I’ve already helped you prevent three failed relationships, you’ve won the lottery, or would have if you’d actually buy a ticket. Your life, my life, could be so much better if you’d just listen to me.
Younger: You know, they cancelled the lottery because of people like you. When everyone wins, everyone just splits the pot into tiny portions. One half of all earnings go toward prizes, so that means we all win fifty cents on every dollar. No one plays.
Older: Okay, so gambling is pretty much a bust. There are other investments. Precious metals, stocks. I know some property to buy that will make you rich.
Younger: Everyone knows the same thing. You’re killing the value here, you and all our future selves following us around, telling us the punch lines without the jokes, the plot twist before the end of the movie. It’s no fun any more.
Older: It’s more efficient. No more wasted hours, wrong turns, mistakes. Everything is perfect. Or it will be.
A flash of light fills the room. When the glow fades, a third person, slightly shorter, much older, stands with the first two.
Even Older: Knock it off you two. Or me two. You’re both making things worse.
Younger: Don’t blame me, I just want to live my life without creepy old me ruining everything.
Older: Impossible. I can’t make things worse since I know the future. I can only make them better.
Even Older: Okay, future me, your premise is you know best since you’ve lived it, right? Well, then I know even better, since I’ve lived through the consequences of all the changes you’ve introduced. Every time you two argue, it changes things down the road. Every change you make today becomes more trouble for me. This whole conversation is making my world dark and scary. You have no idea what it’s like to live in a small six by six room, isolated from everyone one else. We’re all stuck in permanent solitary confinement.
Another flash, a fourth figure appears.
Oldest: You’re all a bunch of idiots! You listen to this ass hole and now I’m living in an atomic waste-land. He ruins everything!
More flashes and the room fills with incarnations of various ages, all arguing with each other.
Younger: I can’t take this any more!
He takes a gun from the locked gun cabinet and shoots himself.
Older: Uh oh!
The room stands empty save for an odd echo of a feedback loop.