The first time I met my future me, I was nine. He was tall and handsome and nice. He told me I was going to be very happy. That all I needed to do was be myself, no matter what anyone said.
And it made me so happy, I knew I'd never forget him.
That was last week. Today is my tenth birthday. And though he is very old, and very sad, I can tell the man on the porch is my future me. He asks me, have I seen him before.
I nod, and he starts to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as he pulls the gun from his pocket. “I'm too late. There's nothing I can say to change you now." He points the gun at me. "I won't let us kill them.”
And even though I don’t know what I did, I’m sorry I did it.