When I was young, perhaps about seven, I distinctly remember one of my playmates. Her name was Grace and she was a tiny girl with long, shiny brown hair and a tooth missing in the front of her mouth. I loved her. At least, as far as my mind could comprehend love. I begged Mother to have her over every day and I screamed until Mother agreed and Grace arrived at our door. She only lived a few houses down, so it was very easy for her to come over and very easy for Gloria to fetch her.
Grace and I would terrorize the local animals and even some of the neighborhood kids together. We'd throw rocks and sticks at them, bonus points if we drew blood. We'd cut Regina's hair together. I'd lure her into the room and Grace would tie her up. Then we'd go at Regina's hair with a pair of scissors until it looked as even as poor people's grass.
She understood me and I understood her. So of course it didn't take long before I realized I wanted to marry her. Mother didn't understand. She said Grace and I were too young to get married. She didn't understand that love is not restricted by age. So I came up with the brilliant idea to run away with Grace. We'd elope, getting married at the nearest church and run off together with all the money I could grab from Mother's purse.
It seemed Grace did not agree with my idea.
When I told her my amazing plan with my pockets stuffed full of Mother's money, her face got a pouted look and she refused to leave with me. She said that she liked living with her mother, plus she told me her mother didn't want her associating with me anymore.
My vision went absolutely red. The smile on my face, the one I thought might break my face in two with it's intensity, dropped into a snarl. I could hardly control myself as my hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed hard. She let out one small gasp before the force of my hands blocked her airway. Her small hands clawed at mine, but I hardly felt it. I was in too much of a rage to feel pain, I could hardly feel her throat between my hands. I pushed her into the ground, my mother's money spilling out around us, and she stared up at me with pleading eyes and an open mouth.
I realized in that moment that I didn't love her. She was not my other half. She was just like the rest of them. Completely, boringly normal. She didn't understand me like I thought she did. She was just another peasant and peasants don't deserve to live like I do.
So I tightened my hands around her neck, her eyes bugged out of her head, and I violently jerked her head to the left. I heard a satisfying crack and she went limp, her eyes no longer pleading. I stood up, panting. Apparently the whole thing had taken more out of me than I thought. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and snatched up the bills I'd dropped.
Then I marched back to my house to cry to Mother to fix this. To hide the body of the girl I thought I'd loved.