Little town

Anna Collins was the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Ever since I was little I had known it, as had anyone who looked around at the lovely blonde girl with porcelain skin and a grin that held the confidence of the world. She would always have her chin held high, unafraid to tell others off.  

I met her in kindergarten, her braids beautiful enough that everyone knew she had someone who loved her. Her mother had held her hand as she walked in, Anna didn’t cry as her dainty mother left, she only observed the room with a soft coolness.  

She took a seat at the head of the table they were eating at, ignoring the burst of outrage from another little boy, who had already claimed it. She dismissed him easy.  

I knew I hated her then.  

The feeling never really went away.  

She didn’t notice me at first, the little girl who was running around outside, grinning at the freedom I fought to preserve. My hair wasn’t exactly braided, my five year old self had haphazardly tied the hair band around it, strands hanging out of control. 

She approached me a week later, while I was animatedly listening to one of my friends tell a story. She had gestured for me to approach her, leaving me with the youthful crisis of leaving my friend or going to talk to the strange girl who was so thoroughly loved.  

Eventually I rose from the ground, walking over to her.  

I stared at her expectantly, but she only looked me up and down.  

“You’d be a lot prettier if you didn’t look so angry all the time,”  

The words had rebounded within me, and I had become angry- which never really has been hard for me. Before long other five year old's joined the fight, hurling words. 

I’ve never been good with words. 

I guess that’s how my five year old self justified hurling my fist into her cheek, an action which wouldn’t have hurt that much.  

But I had underestimated the force of Anna Collins.  

She burst into tears before I touched her, an evil gleam in her eye as she pointed to me, going straight to the teacher while holding her cheek in pain.  

Anna Collins never really matured after that.  

I can’t really blame her, neither have I.  

It’s been twelve years since I first met her, and I can’t say that we’ve gotten closer. Always remaining far apart from each other, always glaring. She played her games, I was a sore loser.  

We were an explosive duo.  

Which is why I stare in shock at the cop at my door, who is looking at me as if I know something I shouldn’t. He crowds in the small archway of my front door, the small house enough for my family of two.  

I can only stare at him, once again not good with words.  

Anna Collins is dead.  

The news of our town's golden girl and her unkind ending would spread through each doorway. The words, exchanged at bus stops, grocery shops.

Gossip spreads through our town the same way bushfires do, spreading from one mans shed to his neighbours garden. A hot rage, moving, destructing anything in its path.

The cop narrows his eyes at me, ‘Can you tell me where you’ve been tonight?’  

I stumble for words, I was at the...  

‘Look, kid, I have to take you in,’  

Anna Collins is dead.  

And they think I killed her.