• Her pigtails ruffled in the wind. The icy breeze bit at her face, tearing through the thin clothes. A violent shiver shuddered through her fragile body. She smoothed her skirt and crossed her muddy foot, uncaring that muck was seeping through the massive rip on her shoes. Sniffling, she wiped her button-nose on her sleeves then ferociously dabbed at her tear-stained face.

    She shouldn’t be sad, she told herself. They were coming back for her.

    A loud commotion rippled through the playground, boys hollered as they shouted at each other. “Who wants to play footie?” someone shouted. They all cheered. One boy noticed her, sitting silently at the swing on the far side. She looked so lonely. He turned to his friend:

    “Hey, should we call her over? She looks sad.”

    “What? What d’you mean? Can she play?”

    “Uh...Well...I don’t think so,”

    “Huh!”

    “But she looks like she could use some cheering up, c’mon! I thought you were Mr Smiley for everyone; the comical genius and what was that –”

    “Okay! Fine! We’ll call her over. What’s her name?”

    “Uh...I don’t know.”

    “What? Wait, do you even know her”

    “Well, I’ve seen her around before”

    “Seen her around?” sigh “you are one nice guy. But it doesn’t matter now, looks like someone is here to pick her up”

    Mr nice-guy looked up and there sure was someone, not exactly the friendliest looking though. In fact, the person looked damn right suspicious! It was hard to make out their face under the old-fashioned top hat he wore. The collar of his black over coat hid his face. He glided like a shadow across the field and hovered toweringly over the field. Slowly, almost gracefully, he pulled out his hand from his pockets and opened his fist in the staring girl’s face. In his open palm laid a candy – bright pink, carved in the shape of a fragile heart.

    “Emma?” was all that the figure said in a deep but soft voice.

    The wide-eyed girl nodded and smiled, taking gratefully the silhouette’s gloved hand. Gently, she hopped off the swing and tottered behind the lean person.

    Oblivious to his friends shouting for him to come and play with them, the boy watched cautiously the whole event.

    Suddenly, he turned to his Mr-Smiley-friend with a grin on his face, “Her name’s Emma”
    “What? Who’s name?”

    “Would you please stop saying “what” all the time! And I am talking about that girl who was on the swing, the one we were gonna call over,”

    His friend just stared blankly.

    “Ugghhh! Your memory is horrible. That girl!” he pointed at the two figures who were sauntering at the end of the field – correction – who should be sauntering at the end of the field because they weren’t there anymore. Astonished, he scanned the playground and the street but they were nowhere to be seen. “That’s impossible!” he mumbled, “this is an open space, they can’t disappear so quickly. They weren’t running or anything!”

    “Are you okay, –”

    “Look, I need to go and report this okay. I think there has been a kidnapping”

    And so he went to tell an adult, his concerned parents then the police. There had been no report made to the police about a missing child, though. She was not from this town, definitely, and the more they tried and failed to research on a girl named Emma the more they began to doubt if she was from a figment of the boy’s imagination.

    “I am telling you,” he protested to the disbelieving officers, “I saw it happen. I know she is from here because I have seen her around before”

    “Oh and where have you seen her before?”

    “I– I can’t remember but I know I have seen her before! She usually wears her hair in pigtails, doesn’t talk much – well I can’t remember her talking to anyone – and she is only a few years younger, probably. Maybe 8-9 years old.”

    After, few days of disappointed looks from friends, family and society he gave up trying to persuade them. The case was closed. Nevertheless, the boy didn’t for a second doubt what he had seen and for some unknown reason although he wasn’t sure of anything about her, he was somehow certain her name was Emma. And that name was important.

    “Emma!” he uttered to himself as he turned over in his bed for another night of restless sleep.

    Outside, a tall silhouette watched his window – pondering about his name.