Allow me to tell you all of a story. I can't think of a more open-minded place to share my experience. It's going to sound impossible, and will probably be dismissed as copypasta. That's okay; as long as I can get it off of my chest.

My story begins in early Spring of 1779. I think it was 1779, at least; it's hard to remember. I was nine years old, a typical child in New England. As it was, I was using some of the little free-time I had from chores and school playing with my leather bladder ball. That damn ball.
There was another with me. A girl, three months older than myself. She and I were the best of friends, a fact that set me apart from the other boys in my county. Her name was Lara. She was my life, my saviour. She would soon become my destruction, my foil, the bane of my existence. And still, she is all I think about.

I recall us throwing the ball through a field about a quarter of a mile from my family's home. We were still innocent children at the time, laughing and shouting and having the time of our lives. I don't remember which one of us kicked the ball down the slope. It doesn't really matter anymore, not that it ever did. What matters is that it rolled into the deciduous forest, right by the brook. We chased after it, of course, but couldn't see the ball. I know that I was the one who suggested that it had bounced over the brook and probably got snagged on some roots. In suggesting this, I am equally guilty.

We attempted to cross the stream, which was actualy about three or four feet deep at that spot. I don't remember the depth, or what method we used to try and slip across. In fact, much of what transpired there has faded from my mind, replaced by the grisly and twisted events to follow...(c)