I wrote this tomorrow, although then it was yesterday. That can't be right, but I know it is. Tomorrow I died.

I'm not sure where to begin; I suppose starting at the end makes as much sense as any.

Tomorrow my empty body went over the falls, tomorrow. He strangled me tomorrow, and then left my body to be destroyed, taking away the proof of the crime. A sudden rage had overcome him, it made no sense. He fell over; he didn't seem to know who I was.

We walked along the riverbed, carefree and loving tomorrow. We held hands and kissed, looking towards the woods. We walked slowly.

My thoughts are not my own today. They tell me it is shock. But I died tomorrow. They tell me no, that it wasn't me who died yesterday.

It wasn't yesterday, yesterday I lived. I am dead tomorrow. I am dead. I have been dead.