Her father owned a tract of land to himself, but how he obtained it was a mystery. Jenny always thought that he acquired it through somewhat unorthodox methods; perhaps he had scammed a well-to-do individual and ran off with the money to buy his own place. Maybe an elderly man used to live here, tucked away into the Alabama countryside – that was until her father probably drove him away and selfishly claimed this land as his own. He seemed like the type of person who would commit such outrageous acts. If he could drive Jenny's grandmother to live in a rickety old trailer with little to no financial assistance, he was capable of doing anything.

But maybe his immoralities were the result of his own frustrations that he tried to drown out through drinking. He had always said that one of the reasons for his frustrations was because her mother had been a disappointment in childbearing; no man had use for daughters if they were to be married off to strangers. Sometimes Jenny thought that if she and her sisters had even one brother, their situation might have been better. Her father might have been endearing, and perhaps he wouldn't have killed their mother in the first place, leaving them in a corrupt household overrun with little girls and an aggravated drunk who was only capable of destroying those close to him like empty wine bottles which were often strewn across the house.

It was always nice to imagine, for Jenny had always been somewhat disconnected from the world, having spent too many days of her childhood hiding in the cornfields drowning out terrifying drunken voices calling her name, by humming hymns under her breath as her body rocked back and forth in prayer. When she was not praying, she masked the world in a façade of lies that her imagination unraveled. She tore husks from the overripe corn that her father had not yet harvested, and threaded them into dolls – something she had taught herself to do. Mixing saliva with the grime of her skin, she used this as an ink to draw in the eyes and the mouths. Soon, she would have a whole family of husk dolls with a small village of houses made from freshly turned earth. Sometimes they were made out of rocks; but there were never enough rocks, so she sufficed with the sand of the dirt, packing them together with water so that they would not fall.

She would guide the family of dolls, two in each hand, through the makeshift roads she drew with her finger that ran down the sand houses. Sometimes she pretended they were shopping for new ribbons and dresses, and other times, they went to the house and she dreamed of food set before her on the table when there was never any. She whispered to these husk dolls, her voice never rising more than a whisper in case her father found her. In her mind, they always responded, in sympathetic, loving tones of warmth that had been notably absent in her youth.

"Jenny, you've been so strong, my darling," the ghost of her mother's voice drifted into her thoughts as she slept in the cornfield for the night, stomach groaning for food. "My goodness, you are getting so much older and taller too. Have you had enough to eat? How about Mommy makes you a stack of waffles in the morning when you make up?"

"I love you Jenny, my dear." Jenny would bring the husk doll representing her nonexistent mother to her cheek, where sometimes she felt the slightest touch of a hand upon her cheek, parting past tangles of blond hair to comfort her as she slept in fitful spasms of fear and worriment for the future.

When she grew older, she abandoned these dolls – childish games of her youth in favor of rocks. She collected them from the dirt path she walked down to her bus stop, and pocketed them. Her favorite one was a pretty copper color, almost like it was rusting away slowly in the inside exposing rich mineral hues. She never told anyone of this strange hobby of hers, not even Forrest. For her, rocks were a reminder of the lingering past that stood like stone monuments in her conscience. She was a child back then, but the memories of her father's abuse refused to erode and dissipate.

That is why every day was a conflict that rose up deep within her, but unseen by others. If Jenny were to enter the battlefield her mind was separated into: one side filled with stone reminders of her corrupted childhood, and another side filled with the good things that had happened which accumulated since she had first met Forrest, she would force herself to bravely stride into the fray with her rocks and slowly chip away at the stone monuments that haunted the graveyard of her sins. It was a lengthy process, but Jenny believed that even stone could be worn away with effort. Water was not as hard as stone, but it had the power to tear away the cliffs of shorelines, and break down barriers. Stones of harder minerals such as diamonds had the ability to break apart weaker stones and turn them to dust. So Jenny thought that likewise, if she kept chipping away at the memories that weighed her down, someday, they would become nonexistent.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I watched Forrest Gump just yesterday & I was moved enough to write this. I hope it okay, I might update this later, because I only posted it here to experiment & vent my ideas? Either way, I wrote this in less than an half hour though, so don't be expecting anything KABOOMMM. Subscribe/review? ;D Any constructive criticism? I'm open to ideas.)