Time travel stories are always bad. They're just bad. I could rant, but if you agree with me there's no need, and if you disagree there's no point.
Anyway, I wrote a time travel story. If you are a person who is reading this blog post, I have extremely low expectation that you will figure out how to read this story. If you're not a person reading this blog post, I have zero expectation that you will figure out how to read this story. The only hint I'll put here is that you have to start by printing it out.
I've been going back and forth about the degree to which an artistic endeavor should be adapted to the expectations of a potential viewer. I suppose expectations must be aligned in order for communication to occur (I think that; it may not actually be the case). But at some point, I have something that I want to communicate that doesn't fit into the regular syntax. The idea exceeds the form in which it ought be placed. The gift doesn't fit the wrapping paper.
This story isn't that big of an idea. It's just odd enough shaped that I don't expect people to put in the effort to understand it. Unless I shove it in their face and bother them until they finish it.