Mr. Smith, 4065.

One of my biggest fears is not what I won't do with my life, but what I will not see. I'm not talking the small picture here - it's not that you won't see the Grand Canyon or Ayers Rock or The Great Wall of China or the Emperors New Clothes...all are opportunities to be exploited by personal endeavour, and a little chance, easily achievable by anyone, if they really desire it.

No. I think back and forth on this, and I am sure I am not alone. I think back 100 years and forwards another two. Take any old black and white picture and look beyond the collars and the caps and the weariness staring back from the unfocused faces and see the man, woman and child, caught at that precise moment, frozen. I wish I could hear their thoughts and see the neurons arcing in their brains. Maybe they are marvelling at the technology before them, capturing images which prior to had only been caught on canvas, painstakingly, slowly. Perhaps instead they have seen their first bi-plane, taking to where eagles had only once dared, or maybe they've heard of the remarkable telegraph, carrying their voices further than the wind once only could, and I wonder at what limit their imagination took them? Who amongst us can think we are at the pinnacle of our achievements? Can total annihilation be the only measure against which we can say we have reached our zenith? That that is it - there will be no more? Will we endure and evolve? Adapt and change - maybe even taking on board some of the lessons our ancestors - their ancestors - teach them, as their legacy? What won't I see? Can I even imagine it?

What would Arthur Smith, born 4065 make of our simple ways? Are we that simple? How sophisticated were we, Arthur? Cute in our naivity; dangerous in our self-belief, eh? You didn't bring me back from the dead, to rise like Lazarus, did you Arthur? You didn't share with me the secret of time travel or the elixir of life. I know, because I haven't been back to see myself, not yet, anyhow. No cloaked figure, with face concealed, (to save alarm) entered the hospital ward in '91, where my father lay dying, to administer a swift chop to his brain stem to remove the clot that was choking all but primitive life from him. I know you would have shown me what to do, Arthur.

That's all you have to share with me Arthur - give me your medicine bag and some simple instructions and I will perform the procedure. You'll check your records and concur that him living will not alter the course of our destiny. There won't be any Butterfly Effect and no harm will come to the yet unborn child, who will save us from the future tyrant, whose name we don't even know. All you need do is turn away and I'll hop onto the machine with your bag of tricks.

Arthur, if you're reading this, what else won't I ever see? Bring me back, Arthur. Let me see it all, please, Mr. Smith.