When I was about 4 years old, I lived in a house owned by my grandfather. It was a small house, two bedrooms. And my little sister had just been born. I had a best friend, his name was Brett. He was two years older than me. Him and I often played in the front yard of that house, and since the entire property was fenced off, we didn't need to be watched.
My father made me a play house out front. It was fun to play in, the three of us. There was this girl who used to play with Brett and I, her name was Emma. Emma was the same age as Brett, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She always wore a green dress and black dress shoes. I told my mother about Emma, and she thought she was just an imaginary friend. She often would watch Brett and I play outside, and she never saw her. I saw Emma and talked to her all the time, until I moved away. My father and grandfather got into a fight, and my grandfather kicked us out. I never saw Emma after that, except once...that's a different story. My grandfather burned down my little playhouse, and I cried. It was the only place Emma liked to be in.
I never told her I was leaving. I thought she would be mad at me for having to leave. She got mad when Brett needed to move away. A few years later, my father was cleaning out a warehouse across from that old house. He found a newspaper (Which I no longer have) on the news paper, it talked about a drive by shooting of a young girl. She died while waiting for paramedics. Her name was Emma, and there was a picture of her. Blonde hair, and bright eyes, and her little green dress she always wore.