Sunday Scribblings "Dear Past Me, Dear Future Me"

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is “Dear Past Me, Dear Future Me.” Sort of lends itself to some sort of soul-searching angst – or science fiction.
I chose the latter.

Future Past
The first time we opened the wormhole, we attached a digital camcorder to a 14-foot length of metal conduit pipe, not knowing what to expect. Not ready, or willing, to risk anything organic.
Little did we know, it those days, that when you opened up a wormholes, it was like poking a Styrofoam cup with a needle. Continue in a certain spot and, well, you get leaks.
When the paper was published, announcing our discovery, we all shared in the Noble Prize. We became rock stars. We figured we were the promised ones, Gods, really, with the power to rummage into the past and fix society’s ills, to make a perfect future society.
Hitler never makes it out of prison. Lee Harvey Oswald stays in Cuba. The eight “pilots” are arrested well before 9/11. Katrina burns herself out before making landfall.
Drip, drip, drip.
Of course, if you’re reading this – I picked stationary that I (or I should say “we”) bought in Florence on holiday – well, you know.
The past, like a weakened dam, has collapsed. It has sent a torrent of desolation and suffering into all of those pin-pricks.
Of course, you probably already know all this.
All I can say is I’m sorry.
We deserved a chance to grow old, right?