“And that is why time travel is impossible.”
Professor Guddenkind had earned his distinguished grey hair, his wrinkles, his old, mothball-smelling sweater, in more or less the usual manner. He had a tendency to blink owlishly at his students, as if surprised to find them still there; sometimes, rather than blinking, he simply winked.
His students filed out, two, three at a time. Miss Heruon, as she always did, took a moment to smile at him and thank him for the lesson.
Professor Guddenkind always felt as if she was a little bit disappointed by what she heard. He wished he could give her the answers she wanted.
“Ah, there.” She popped back into the room and grabbed her notebook off of her desk. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I left this here.” She dropped the notebook in her bag and exited again.
Professor Guddenkind watched her leave. He had thought, a few minutes before, she’d had brown hair and a red sweater, not reddish hair and a brownish sweater.
Next: The Impossible
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