I dash down the hallway as soon as I hear the doorbell ring. Mail. I fumble with the door handle, itching to look through what little attention I get from the outside world.

I throw aside the repetitive letters; bills, newspapers, coupons. I stop searching when I find a letter sealed with red wax.

I take the letter to the living room, eyeing the peculiar seal as I plop into the cushions of my leather sofa. Pushing my thumb nail under the wax, I force the seal away from the paper with minimal tearing.

“Dear Past,” I whisper, eye rolling across the page like icing on a cake, “you will not know why I have come for you, but alas, there will be no time for you to run. Most apologetic, Future.”

Instantly, my eyes dart to a figure standing in the archway of the corridor. His features are identical to mine, although his skin is slightly more wrinkled and his hair slightly graying with age.

“Hello, Past,” he started, boots clunking against the wooden floor as he advanced toward me, “I figured sending a letter might be a courtesy.”

“My name is Hal,” I started, lip quivering with anxiety.

“Don’t you think I know that, Halsow. I am you,” he scoffed. Future pulled a modern pistol from a holster hidden under his clothes and cocked the gun at my temple, “I need not explain this, Past. All you need to know is that this is for my own good.”

My last few moments of sensory awareness filled with the sight of a bright flash inches away from my retinas and the feeling of a cold metal bullet ricocheting through the soft tissue of my brain.