STRANGE

Forrest looks out the window, sighing heavily. Fat, fluffy snowflakes drift to the ground, cloaking the world in utter silence. It's peaceful and tranquil. The exact sort of atmosphere Forrest needs to finish his report. And of course, it's also the one thing that's distracting him from it. He looks at his work them out the window, then back at his work, contemplating whether going outside for a few moments will affect his report.

No, he decides firmly. It might not affect his work directly, but it will certainly give him an excuse to procrastinate the next time. He figures if he can cut off his ever growing laziness crisis at the roots, maybe it will stop. Or at least, not be a major thing anymore.

Turning back to his desktop, Forrest busies his eyes, scanning over the Word document but as luck would have it, the words blur together, leaving him tiredly rubbing his eyes.

He pushes his glasses up from the bridge of his nose and looks back at the window, marvelling at the expanse of white, just out there, waiting for him. The window almost gleams, as if beckoning him to come closer and just watch. With his nose pressed against the glass, like it was at 9 years old, just gaping at the beauty of snow.

So beautiful, perfect. Yet cold to touch and if given the chance, deadly.

His fingers dig into the edge of the table on an effort not to get up. He's sure that if Analise wasn't his sister, he would have been fired months ago.

But still, though she's his sister, she is also his boss and he needs to treat her as such, by respecting the deadlines. She can't stall an entire project for him. Especially one as important as this. And that's, why he can't be distracted now. Not today of all days.

The quicker he finishes the report, the quicker he can hand it in to Analise before she tears him a new one.

He forces himself to relax and not look at the 4 big mugs of steaming coffee he's had in the last hour. Squinting his eyes and biting his lip, Forrest quickly gets to work.

With an average yearly income of... Macken Corps will be beneficial to Daelan Outdoor Gear...

Forrest looks up at the faint sound of rustling. What was that? No, no, no time for that.

Focus.

"I should call Analise to confirm," he mutters looking over the document. Forrest looks down at his phone suspiciously, a bit put off that the device hasn't rung since he woke up.

He would have thought Analise would have rung him by now, to at least confirm that he's working on the report. But no, his phone has been lying face down on the mahogany desk, silent as a tomb.

Battery? But no, Forrest charged it this morning. It shouldn't have run out of juice yet. He's barely used it all day. Something taps at his window and he turns around quickly.

Calm down, Forrest, something calms him in a voice that sounds strangely like Analise's. Don't overreact because you're antisocial and have no friends.

Out of the corner of his eye, Forrest catches a glance of the snow in front of his cabin. Turning fully, he notices how the window accents the snow, like a frame to a picture, the edges thick with condensation.

"Alright, I have been working for," Forrest checks his watch, pausing amidst gathering his papers. "30 minutes. Time for a well deserved break."

He leaves the papers on his desk, straightened to perfection, grabs his jacket off the off the coat hanger and strides purposefully to the door. He pauses by the entrance, looking back guiltily at his unfinished work. Then he shrugs on his jacket and pulls open the door.

As soon as the door is thrown open, a gust of of refreshing air hits Forrest straight in the face, startling him for a moment. Sighing in reverence, he steps out of the cabin and closes the door firmly behind him.

People called him crazy for choosing a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but, he loved the natural silence, the feeling of peace of out in the wilderness, away from everyone else.

He likes the silence. The peace. Though, today it's quieter than normal. Forrest furrows his brows as he wanders deeper into the woods surrounding his home.

Where'd all the noise go? Where are the animals that constantly wander all about Forrest's property? Something rushes past him and he nearly falls over from fright. A bunny scampers away making absolutely no noise.

But... Forrest looks at his feet. The snow.

A cloak of confusion settles onto his shoulder, making him feel as if he's missing something. Something important.

He shakes it off, and walks deeper into the trees, the tall branches looking over him, looking more and more threatening as he goes deeper. The snow is no longer fluffy and soft. Instead, it falls around him in sheets of ice, stinging whenever it comes in contact with his skin.

No need to be ridiculous, Forrest, he chides himself. The snow didn't change, and the trees don't look like they're going to trap you.

He huffs and keeps walking despite every functioning instinct in him telling him to turn back. He's about to find something. He can tell.

It's like one of those horrid horror movies where the main character finds a dead body and unveils this whole plot to stop the ghost from haunting the entire town. Or something like that.

He looks to the right and peers into the spaces between the trees, looking for what? He doesn't know. Turning back to his path, he gasps and stumbles back, staring straight into the soft brown eyes of a spotted doe.

But... No sound...

The doe looks straight through Forrest and bounds away, her steps not making a sound.

Feeling claustrophobic, he spins quickly and...

He's nowhere near the cabin though he swears he didn't walk that far. He should be barely 5 or 6 minutes into the trees, but it looks like he's a lost camper in the woods. Now all he's missing is a serial killer to hunt him.

"Damnit, Forrest. You shouldn't have watched that movie with Til last night," he whispers harshly, looking frantically around. He considers screaming for help, but that's the problem with living in the middle of nowhere. There's not a soul for miles.

But, he's not too far in. He knows this for sure. He's been living on this property for nearly 5 years. He would think he knows his way around.

Okay. Straight ahead. That's where you came from. Just look for your footprints. He takes a step, looking for the familiar prints if his boots and he huffs.

Wrong way. He turns to the left, no prints. He keeps turning till he's surveyed the woods at least four times.

Where are my prints? What is going on?

He would panic, if he isn't absolutely sure it wouldn't do any good at all. He's never had a sense of direction, and that makes the situation even more screwed up. If he ever had an internal compass, it's broken. And unfortunately, he can't fix it till he gets out of the woods.

Forrest takes a step and another towards the way he thinks came from and and it's not long before he starts running, scanning every detail, a panic like the coldest winter chill setting in deep into his bones.

He's not sure how long he's been running for but it feels like 3 minutes at the least. And he's not tired. He stops so quickly, he falls and he watches, horrified as his hand falls into the snow. His hand disappears in the cold powder but, the snow doesn't cave around his hand.

Instead, it covers his hand, no sign of a print, like a parlor trick. Letting out a horrified help, he throws himself back, falling onto the snow and pulls his hand to his face, scanning it. There's no snow on it despite the fact that it was buried in the fluffy white powder. And that's not even the worst of it.

Worry creases Forrest's forehead when he realizes that his hand isn't cold. At all. His breath speeds up, then slows down dangerously then speeds up again as he eyes his tanned hand.

Seriously. What the hell is going on?

He really wants to scream. To panic. Screw the fact that it would do absolutely no good at all. He just wants to make it known that he doesn't know what was going on or how to fix it.

If I can't hear them, can they hear me?

Then, a glorious sound. One that Forrest used to loathe, because it meant he would have to entertain people. And he wasn't very social, seen as the queen of awkwardness was his best friend and sister.

The sound of a car door slamming.

And with that sound, it's as if the forest opened up to him. Forrest scrambles to his feet, disheartened and a little creeped out when no snow sticks to his clothing.

He races towards the sound, arms pumping, heart thudding in his chest, desperately hoping someone, anyone would help him. There's an opening at the end of this stretch of trees and Forrest sprints for it, breaking free of the woods, shaking them off like a curse.

"Analise?" Analise isn't supposed to visit Forrest until tomorrow. But maybe she can help him. "Ana! Ana!"

Ana swivels, her eyes searching frantically, before tearing up, disappointed. Forrest doesn't have a theory for this. He doesn't even have an explanation for all the other stuff, but he has to, otherwise, he's afraid his brain would split right open.

Forrest wants to go to Ana, but if anything, he's scared of what he'll find out. But suddenly he's moving, running at full speed towards Ana, alarms going off in his head. Ana looks down, tears dripping of her face as she mutters to herself.

"-hear him."

He stops right behind her, going rigid. Some many questions, so little answers.

Hear what? Hear what?! Tell me!

A newspaper tightly clutched in her fist, she shuffles to Forrest's front door. He follows closely behind as she reaches up to knock, but instead, lets her hand drift down, as if all the life inside her is being sucked out. 

He can't be too sure what's happening in that moment as Analise steps up and presses her head to the door. She lets the newspaper drift to the snowy ground as a sob rips through her.

Forrest heart breaks. Stepping up, he wraps his arms around her shoulders and leans his chin on her head. If anything her sobs get louder, more pronounced. He really doesn't know what to do.

What happened? What is happening?

He steps back and picks up the paper, careful not to disturb Ana, but she hasn't even noticed him. Not since he got out of the woods.

He reads the paper. Then he reads it again. And again. And again. And again. Scanning the paper, word after word, he imprints them into his mind, refusing to believe any of them.

He won't believe these words, lies. He can't.

Forrest Reed, aged 32, dead from car crash.

What? T-that's me. That's me.

Forrest feels his chest constrict as he reads on.

Girlfriend, Matilda Henway, states that Reed headed home from her apartment around 10pm, Thursday night. She didn't hear from him after that. She says she tried to call him, but he didn't pick up. She wasn't worried until she called him the next day and he didn't answer.

Reed was hit by a semi driver who ran a red light. The driver of the semi, Matthew Weilder, apologizes profoundly. He is currently in the hospital in stable conditions.

According to all his friends and family, Forrest Reed was a wonderful, cheerful person who went out of his way to be kind, even when it didn't suit him. From your girlfriend, sister, mother, father, and unborn child, Mr. Reed, you will be dearly missed and never forgotten...

Forrest has to stop read there. He's afraid if he goes on, he'll throw up. His eyes sting but he doesn't cry. He doesn't know what those would be called.

Ghost tears? Phantom water?

He can't...

Something his chest cracks and he looks at his sister, who is sobbing. Her forehead is still pressed firmly against the door, pain dripping off her face.

Forrest swallows heavily, his throat tight with anguish. Breaths race in and out of him, shuddering heavily. He doesn't thing he'll ever feel steady again. Never feel balanced enough. Never again.

"Don't forget me," he chokes out, staring at the paper then at Ana. "Don't ever forget me. Please."

Ana chokes and as if she heard Forrest, she nods once. "I won't forget you, Forrest. Never."