[ WP ] Time travelling tourists from the future are commonplace at significant historical events . You get home and find time travellers watching you for an unknown reason .

I had always wondered why nobody had ever saved Lincoln. They told me it was something about `` preserving history'' or something, but I do n't think I'd be capable of standing by and watching as a good man is shot. You could always tell in the pictures which ones were new to the whole `` watching beloved historical figures' heads explode'' - the man on the far left, reaching up his hand even though he knows that the pistol is right next to Lincoln's head and that he's not a doctor, he's an electrician who saved up for a temporal vacation - and which ones had seen it all before, standing there with placid faces, recounting every detail like they were there a million times over because they had been again and again. That was why no one ever protested the Crucifixion - they were enraptured ( often literally ) by the most famous death in the Western world. 
 
 It was fun to watch the tourists gather at more recent events - Obama, George VIII ( then third in line ), the Spratly Incident - and the media had simultaneously calmed down as it realized that certain events would be forgotten by history and turned up the sensation meter whenever there were lots of strange people crowding around a motorcade or a nuclear plant or whatever, especially if they were the sort that were mostly nude and kept talking about `` the Event'' and staring hungrily at supermarkets. Whenever some guy was walking along in the park followed by dozens of weirdos with cameras, the major networks and CNN would rush to the scene ( unless that guy was Joseph Gordon-Levitt, in which case such following was normal, and people started guessing what was going to happen: `` Oh, my God, that man there's going to shoot the President!'' or `` I do n't think the waves will subside this time,'' and suchlike. I always wondered what I would do if such a thing happened to me, and then the clock struck 4:23 PM on August 28, 2023. 
 
 I lived in a typical American household - myself ( Arthur Weeks ), husband ( Jeremiah Weeks ), 2.5 kids ( Patricia, Sybil, and hn ) - on a typical American street in a typical American town ( New Bedford, Illinois ), which I thought was the least likely setting for a major historical event. But then I spied with my little eye a gentleman wearing some sort of dress-thing trying to not be noticed behind a tree, and then a woman with long red hair setting up a folding chair, and then more and more people, and that was when I took my hand off the doorknob. 
 
 `` What are you here for?'' I asked. They said nothing, but they were all keeping a bit of a distance from me. `` I asked you a question!'' I remembered that video I saw on the bystander effect, and I directed my next question towards the red-haired woman. `` Why are you here? What is happening?'' She merely put a finger to her lips and shook her head, indicating that she was n't going to tell me, and the same was probably true for everyone else ( at least, the ones who did n't want to face life in prison ). 
 
 I took out my gun - a handgun, nothing more, nothing you could shoot up a school with - and pointed it at one of the thin hungry people. `` Why are you here? Why am I important?'' There was still not a word from anyone, though some modern suburbanites were gathering around to witness a historical event live in action. I started turning around in the circle, and turned the safety off to show them I meant business. `` If no one tells me what's about to happen, I will fire this gun and I will not take responsibility for the ensuing events. I have ten bullets.'' Still there was nothing, though the circle was shrinking backwards and a few had left. `` All right, I'll give you to the count of five..'' 
 
 `` One.'' 
 
 `` Two.'' 
 
 `` Three.'' 
 
 `` Four.'' 
 
 `` Five.'' 
 
 One, two, three, four, five, six bullets were squeezed out in quick succession, and four tourists dropped to the ground. I could n't tell whether they were dying or already dead, and frankly I did n't care. The others were starting to leave more rapidly now, with one of them remarking `` Well, now we've seen everything.'' I fired two more shots, dropping two more people, and by then the others had already left. 
 
 I walked towards the last person to be shot, a man who looked to be in his twenties. `` Why did you come here?'' I asked, though I'm not sure why I expected an answer when my previous iterations of the question had met with nothing. Coughing up blood, he was able to gasp out only the words `` Look around you.'' 
 
 A stunned realization came over me as my legs gave out from the shock of still only partially comprehending what I had just done. `` Oh, my God. I fucked up. I fucked up so much.'' 
 
 And that's why historical tourism was banned.
