"Do you think you could walk just a few steps more?" I asked.

The red-headed man in the bed looked at me quizzically. He was gaunt and lay propped up on pillows smoking a pipe. He looked old for a young man and very unwell. "You know I have a bullet in my spine?" he replied, as if relaying a matter as mundane as last Thursday's weather.

"I'm aware," I said sheepishly, "But you managed to walk all the way back to the Auberge Ravoux after you shot yourself in the fields. And I assure you this is worth it."

"You are just a hallucination," he retorted.

"As implausible and crazy as this might sound," I said, "I do come from the future, but I assure you I am real." 

He looked at me skeptically and peered outside the window at my bright orange 2019 Subaru Crosstrek, retrofitted with, as implausible and crazy as it might sound, time travel navigation. "Is that one of those 'steam buggies,' I've read about?" he pointed at my car with his pipe.

"Yes," I replied. 

"Nice color."

"Thanks. Well, come on then. I'll help you up." Slowly and carefully I helped him totter outside and stuffed him in the passenger seat. "Hang on," I said, getting behind the wheel. I flipped a few custom-made switches on the dash, and in a puff of smoke we left Auvers-sur-Oise and landed in the SoDo neighborhood of Seattle, Washington. 

My companion seemed unperturbed by the abrupt journey but was engrossed by the touch screen controlling the radio. December rain hammered mercilessly against the windshield, but I pried him out of the car and we managed to totter across the muddy parking lot to the door of an enormous warehouse. "What is that?" he asked, grabbing at the iPhone I took from my pocket to display the QR code that afforded us entrance.

"I'll show you later," I said, knowing we didn't have much time. He looked pale and I could see a glazed look in his eye that didn't bode well. I had to carry most of his weight through the great hall. We entered an enormous dark room filled with people, some in deck chairs, others lying on rugs. I found an empty rug for us and helped him lie down. I took a seat beside him and hoped he wouldn't bleed too much from his wounds. 

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice weak.

"We're at a gallery," I whispered, "in the year 2021." The lights went out and I leaned near him in the darkness. "Have you ever seen a phénakisticope?"

"Ja," he said, "As a child. It was of a man and a woman dancing. Like magic."

"Well, this is similar," I said as the show began.

Vincent gasped. "My sunflowers!" he cried as they floated up the walls of the warehouse. "Surely I am delirious again."

"I promise you are not," I assured him. We sat there, both entranced, along with the rest of the crowd. 

Just as Starry Night came alive around us, he touched the bandage covering his chest wound. "I'll die soon from this won't I?" 

"I'm afraid so," I answered.

"But you took me to see the future." He patted my hand. "My art endures...the sadness will last forever."

______

Author's note: Vincent Van Gogh shot himself in the chest at the age of 37. He suffered from psychotic depression and spent much of the last two year of his life in asylums where he completed most of his 860 oil paintings. She shot himself in the chest July 27th, 1890 and died about 30 hours later. He was unsuccessful in his lifetime and was considered a madman and a failure. "The sadness will last forever," were his last words. It's worth the money to go see the immersive experience currently touring major cities. 

https://youtu.be/dZkQSjZYsgc