Prolouge

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It is seven o ' clock and the Alabama air has grown humid and stale with no sign of a breeze making its way forth. I've been sitting on this front porch since 3 o' clock or also know as the first crow of what I presume is a wild rooster. I gaze about my view of what was once a beautiful lake house, but is now just a shell of what it once was. Across the lake, a blanket of fog has formed over the gleaming water leaving it in a horror movie daze. I stand up out of my decaying rocking chair and glide down over grown steps onto the pine needle permeated ground.
I try my hardest to recall any memories, but to my discontent remember nothing. I think of how I came to be in the situation I am now, and of how the only thing I can remember is this lake house. I do not recall how I got here, or why I'm here. The only thing I remember is my name, age, and the faint memory of a lake house. I'm Caroline and I am 22 years old.

 I'm Caroline and I am 22 years old

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