FOREWORD: Inspired by novels onThe Uncanny (James Hogg's The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, Chuck Palaniuk's Fight Club, etc.) and through the eyes of an unreliable narrator (Alex Garland's The Beach, Robert Rankin's Fandom of the Operator, etc.). Below is the poem that served as a basis and features for comparative purposes.

BEAUTY PARLOR

School of the deaf with a playground
In a tangle of dead weeds and trash
On a street of torched cars and vans,
Here then in the white and red banner,
Grime-streaked and wind-torn,
Still inviting us to the GRAND OPENING.

The one with a flame-thrower hairdo
Who set all our hearts on fire,
Where is she today? I inquired
Of a ragged little tree in front,
While its branches took swipes at my head
As if to knock some sense into me.

Charles Simic

GIRL WITH THE FLAMETHROWER HAIR

Most children have best friends. What they mean by ‘best friend’ is a person, usually another child, with whom they spend a majority of their time. Sad to say, I never had a ‘best friend’, though some may argue that I did.

Alice, the prettiest girl in the class, and new to the school, would spend her break and lunch times standing next to me. We never spoke, as such. If we did, I imagined that I told her to go away. She only stood there because the other children frightened her. They stared at her, particularly at her flamethrower hair. It was like no shade of red they’d ever seen. Whenever she moved, it seemed as if a million matches had just been struck. And the heat of it made your eyes water. But the boys liked it. And the girls hated it and wanted it. Why? Nothing to do with me. She wasn’t the only girl with flamethrower hair, you know.

I decided to play with the other children in the hope of shaking her off. There were three girls playing hopscotch by the wall. I always liked them, so I went over to see if I could play. Helen was surprised. She must have thought I’d bring Alice along. Shrugging, I watched Sarah throw dice and skip up and down. I noticed the hopscotch was all wrong. It was too small. Wonky. Badly drawn. Charlotte said Rebecca was using the original. I glanced at her. She was surrounded by a group of girls, skipping up and down, her golden ponytail bouncing. Before Alice came, Rebecca was the prettiest girl in the class. Everyone liked her. She was good at drawing and even had a ‘boyfriend’ called James. She also had loads of ‘best friends’. People would do anything for her.

Anything.

Helen threw dice.

My turn.

I skipped up and down the hopscotch, as best as I could. In the distance, I saw Rebecca watching. She must have been concerned about Alice, because Alice was on her own now. No one there to stand next to all break and lunch. Maybe Rebecca would make friends with her. Put her out of misery. Alice had nothing to do with me.

I played with Helen, Sarah and Charlotte for weeks. You could say they became my ‘best friends’, but I beg to differ. It doesn’t count when people want to be with you against your will. And those girls wanted to be with me all the time! And they even welcomed Alice, who (eventually) plucked up the courage and came over – only to stop the boys from asking her questions, not because she actually liked us. She was selfish. And boring. She always tagged along and she hardly joined in. I don’t know if Helen, Sarah or Charlotte knew, but something had to be done about her. I had to escape. I had to. Alice wouldn’t leave me alone!

So I went to Rebecca and asked her if we could have lunch together. She smiled. She said ‘yes’. And for the first time in ages, I was happy. Rebecca introduced me to her friends, even to her ‘boyfriend’ James. He looked better stood still, and nervous without a football. Did you know he asked Alice a question once? It was a question Rebecca wouldn’t have liked. He probably thought I’d tell. But I wanted to be Rebecca’s friend forever and ever… Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

Rebecca died.

So did James.

And Helen.

And Sarah.

And Charlotte.

Everybody died.

And as a consequence, the playground was expelled, making the world blind with yards of red and white tape.

I was absent when it happened. You may think I’m lucky, but that depends on your definition of ‘luck’. I was the sole survivor of my class. I was alone and alive. And I wanted to know if it was true, if everyone had truly gone.

I remember ducking the red and white tape, and entering what remained of the car park. A few cars were still there, torched black and waiting to be towed away. They used to belong to teachers. And I heard that most of them died. They were, as you say, ‘lucky’.

Unlike poor Mrs Henderson.

Where is she today? Where was Alice? What had become of her? Has anyone seen a girl with flamethrower hair? She can’t have burnt in the fire! Like a phoenix, she would have rose up! There must be ashes of her somewhere amongst the weeds, under singed scraps of textbooks, in between cracks of charred flagstones…

A sudden wind blows bits of charcoal around the playground. Some of it gets into my eyes. I start to cry. Where is she? Where is she? I wanted to be friends with you, Rebecca! I would never have taken James! Then someone taps me on the shoulder – the lower branch of a nearby tree. It’s reaching for me, clawing at me, trying to swipe at my head – but it wasn’t my fault! None of this is my fault!

It’s your fault, Alice!