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08:43 PM

The girl she just met, Mindy, was quite the cheerful person. Alice felt like smiling just because her smile was so bright and joyful, but she could only muster an awkward tiny smile in return. "What did you say your name was?" She asked the boy.

After pushing away a few branches, the house appeared as if out of nowhere. It was a cozy little cottage with walls made out of lumber and a sturdy, shingled roof. There was plenty of green space around, which she loved to just lay on when it was a cool, breezy day. "Welcome to my home in the woods," she escorted them inside, "It's not much, I know, but please... make yourselves at home. You're the first guests... well... ever."

When she opened the door, the familiar scent of firewood and pine hit her face. It had three rooms. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were all in the same room, and the other two rooms consisted of her bedroom and the bathroom. All of her different artworks were sprawled all over the walls.

She quickly cleared the art supplies off of the chairs so that they could sit. "Sorry about the mess... I sometimes get absorbed into my artwork and I never have company so..."

"Hey... who exactly are you?" Vincent surveyed the young man in the distance who wore all dark clothes... even his hair was dark. This guy looked like he needed some serious cheering up. The man gave no response. Vincent squinted. He was quite far back and his image was blurred so he couldn't make out any details. He could only see that there was another person beside him. It looked like... a woman? Maybe in her late thirties or so.

"I might ask you the same question." The man finally said, stepping closer.

"I'm Vincent. Now tell me... who are you?"

"My name is... Vincent... Vincent Alistair..." He chuckled darkly, the woman beside him finally coming into focus.

"Mom!" Vincent cried out, fear shooting through his body when he saw that the man had a knife to her throat. "Let her go... now." He growled.

"Oh, but Vincent... this is a figment of your imagination. Don't you remember? Your mother's dead." The man, who called himself the same name, pointed the tip of the knife deeper, causing blood to trickle down her neck. Vincent shook his head and staggered back. "Come on... don't tell me you forgot... You were the one who killed her, after all." The other Vincent snarled, his his as cold as ice. "How could you?"

Vincent slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurry. He blinked a few times until his surroundings came into focus; he noticed that there had been tears in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away. That nightmare had reminded him about the secret that he kept hidden, locked away at the back of his mind, hoping it would never surface again. But now it had...

His head was pounding and he groaned in response. His memory of the previous day was foggy... Why did he do this to himself? The hangover was always the worst part. Oh... right... to forget. The only thing he could slightly remember was... a girl. He couldn't remember exactly what she had looked like except for the fact that she had brown hair and glasses.

He sighed, falling back onto the bed. He just wanted to disappear.