When other babies sat, reached and cooed, tethered by the puppet show, you commando-crawled to the corner and span the wheels of pushchairs.
When other toddlers sang The Wheels on the Bus, you watched out the window, said,“That turning goes to Liphook.”
When other children moulded castles of wet, rust sand, you made a minotaur from pebbles, set it facing the sea, said, “He’s free now.”
When other schoolmates wouldn’t let you play football, withheld party invitations, called you weirdo, Saskia Gray said, “He’s just the way he was meant to be.”
I could have crushed her with love.
About the author: Michelle Christophorou writes flash fiction and short stories and recently won the Retreat West Fire themed flash competition. Her stories have appeared in anthologies and online, including in Ellipsis Zine, Funny Pearls, Virtual Zine and forthcoming in FlashFlood and the National Flash Fiction Day anthology. In an earlier life, she practised law in the City of London. She tweets @MAChristophorou