Hannah Louise Gemmell

'Annie's Book' by Hannah Gemmell.

Fresh rays of sun shines through the cracks in my blind, crossing paths with my eyes- its morning. I live alone with my golden retriever, Holly. It is a friendly neighbourhood. The highest forms of crimes we have is the occasional theft or drug use in an isolated house. Stereotypically, everyone knows everyone, at least at a superficial level. Most people like everyone. One of the few ostracised members of this society is my quiet neighbour Annie. I am not aware of her last name. She has lived next door since I moved in 5 years ago. She is older, enjoys her own company, friendly but people see her as odd. Her appearance is typically dishevelled, she is covered in loose, dated clothing. Her style is strongly practical, dull-toned items. Her overall aura is earthy. I do not see anyone visit her. Apart from the subtle friendship we have managed to develop over the years, over the top of the sectioning garden fence, others have taken her perceived abnormal low interest in her image and her preference for her own sole time, as painting her with a ‘weird old lady on the corner’ palette. Predictably, this eventually hindered potential friendships outside of ours, to be built. Even our friendship- comparing it to others, the quality of it is a fraction of the connection I have in comparison of other friends. Our friendship is crafted with minor conversations with petite detail- like I said, I do not even know her last name. The way she is, identifies that she is a very private (arguably, secretive) person, who seems to not help, on her end of the friendship- building process.