Have you ever seen a pin, dropped in a crowded room? That was my life, a bustling room. Hundreds of things going on all at once. Until at one point everything stopped. Why did it stop? Well, that’s because somewhere along the line, somebody made the mistake of treading on that pin. The pin that I fatefully stepped on was Alma. It was my decision to do stupid things for love. But just like finding a pin in your foot, there was going to be blood. Blood that I had to live with, which stained my life forever. In that moment I didn’t care about the boy staring daggers at me. I didn’t care that hours later I had assignments due. I wanted to be with her. I shouldn’t have gone out that night. I didn’t think of the blood.
The investigation began on the 2nd of February. When interrogated, both suspects seemed to distance themselves from the victim.
3rd February – Interrogation Room: Suspect One
Oh yeah, Alma. That girl from art? She’s confident, way more confident than me at least. Maybe that’s why we didn’t get along. But what happened to her was a step too far. Listen, just because we weren’t ‘best mates’ doesn’t mean I’d do something like that to her. The night she went missing, I was home alone. 11 Priestly Gardens. We’ve never spoken outside of school, there was no reason for me to be with her that night. I don’t know why I’m here, my parents are going to kill me if they find out that I’ve been brought in by the cops. I don’t know what you want to do with me. I’m no expert, but you could try your luck with that girl from art class. She’s always had some obsession with Alma. Since day dot. Always staring at her. But what do I know, huh? I just want to get outta here. So if that’s all you wanted to get out of me, I’ll be on my way home.
3rd February
I couldn’t tell them the truth. My mouth was coated in the metallic taste of my blood. I’d been slowly nibbling at my lips as I was sat in front of the officer. I’d been summoned to the station earlier in the morning. I knew that they’d found out. I couldn’t tell them that this was all my fault. I couldn’t tell them that I was the one who had said she should go for a walk to clear her head. I couldn’t tell them that I was jealous of the girl in our art class. I couldn’t tell them that I was going to meet Alma the same night she went missing. I was going to meet her. I swear I was. I kept telling myself that she’d never want me. So I sat in my hallway. While she was pacing down the street, waiting for me to show up. I sat there, staring at the rough soles of my shoes. Eventually I shook off my nerves and left to catch up with her. I was too late. I should’ve gone. I should’ve been there. Those few minutes of contemplation would make the difference of whether or not she was alive right now; I think. I can’t forgive myself for that.
3rd February – Interrogation Room: Suspect Two
Alma. I’d heard of her. I’d talk to her in art, period five on a Tuesday. I didn’t know much about her but her art was beautiful. She’d use colours to communicate animals. Butterflies. She’d paint hundreds at a time. I’d never admit it, but I watched her from the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help it. She was mesmerising. I got lost watching her delicately swipe at her canvas. Each stroke led to another array of bright butterflies scattering across her work. I couldn’t imagine what she’s going through, but I’d never hurt her. She was perfect. Everything about her. On January 31st I was starting my art project, due the following day. The only communication I had with her was that I tried contacting her about what pastels she’d use for her realism portrait. I didn’t get a reply. You can check my phone. I had run out of charcoal and it was late so all the craft stores would be closed. It sounds awful, but I wandered through her location on Snapchat. I had seen that she wasn’t home. She was near this address that I’d never heard of. It was called Priestly Gardens or something. I didn’t pay much attention to it. A few hours later I got a message. Through Instagram a guy from my art class who I’d never talked to before. I can show you the text, but from what I can remember he asked if Alma was with me. That’s when I knew something was wrong. I would never have spoken to him but he seemed really worried. I said I hadn’t heard from her but if I could help, I would. I’ve not heard from him since.
3rd February
She had called me that same night. She was alone. She was going to meet the guy from art. Apparently she hadn’t heard from him. He’s always hated me. I could see him scowling at me whenever I got too close to Alma. His eyes would burn into the back of my head. Especially in Tuesday art. I said that I was free if she needed a rebound. I could tell she was upset. When she agreed I quickly packed up some of my dad’s half empty gin and slipped out into the bitter night air. Christ, I wish I hadn’t been so eager. I’m the reason she was wasted and out of control. I should’ve stayed with her. Made sure she got home safe. I didn’t though. I met with her and we went out to the park. She was wearing nothing but a butterfly patterned dress. I offered her my jumper and she took it. That’s most likely how I ended up interrogated by the cops. The girl that went missing was last seen wearing my clothes. I couldn’t tell them that I left her crying for help.
19th July
I still think about her. I think about how I got jealous of anyone she spoke to. That guy from art class? I never spoke to him again, we occasionally catch each other’s eye. I can’t hate him, I can’t bring myself to. We’ve both lost someone we loved. Alma. God, Alma. I like to think of her as one of her butterflies from her paintings. Beautiful, bright wings sprouting from her back. Unlike her paintings that are now hung next to a memorial of her in the art classroom. She’s free, and she is as perfect as ever.