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The grave sat alone in the yard, unmarked. No one knew the man who had been buried there, and it was often a source of mystery in the town, even more so when a young woman came by to visit it from time to time to place a flower or other object by the grave. One day, one of the town residents finally asked the woman as she grieved who the tombstone belonged to.

“It’s mine,” The woman said rather flatly, “Or rather, that’s my body. I don’t know how or why, but while I sat in the hospital bed awaiting death, something happened. I don’t know if it was a weird electrical jolt in the hospital wiring that did it or maybe it was some sort of spiritual thing, but I found myself swapped into this body. A few hours later, my original body died. I didn’t have any family, so I made sure my body had a proper burial. I didn’t know whose name to put on the grave. Should I put my own? The woman who I swapped with? I didn’t even want to explain how I knew, so I allowed it to remain blank. But I come back here every now and again to remember who I was...”