You're sitting in your living room, watching Forrest Gump for what must be the hundredth time, completely captivated by the gentle cadence of Tom Hanks’ narration.

The iconic line is coming up, and you sit forward in anticipation.

“My momma always said life was like a box of chocolates”

Forrest says

And it hits you like a misstep on a staircase.

That’s wrong.

You’re sure of it.

It should be, “life is like a box of chocolates.” A small difference, but you can’t shake it.

You rewind and play it again, narrowing in on the line with an intensity that drowns out the rest of the film. Again and again, “was,” and every time it unsettles you just a bit more.

Then, a loud shattering of glass interrupts the silence.

Jolted from your thoughts, you rush toward the source, glancing around the room.

Peering through the broken window, you stop short as you see a familiar figure

Forrest Gump himself, or at least, something resembling him.

He stands silently in the pale moonlight, his face devoid of eyes, ears, and nose, with only a black, featureless mask of shadow where his features should be.

"Life…is…a box…of chocolates. Ain't that what you wanted?"