Émile

Three stubborn cowlicks impossible to tame, oatmeal for breakfast when all he had dreamed of was honey on toast, his mind going completely blank when asked what seven times six was (in front of the whole class, no less), not so much as a glance from Gwendoline, the little girl he has been in love with since he was sixteen months old (yes, that is young, but there is no explaining love at first sight), a torrential downpour soaking his translucent skin when the forecast had promised glorious sunshine, the sofa entirely taken over by his brothers and sisters, a failed attempt to get a kiss from his mum (too rushed, too tired, no time), and pages 45 and 46 of his favourite book stuck together with chewing gum.

In short, by this evening, Émile has had enough.

So he decides it is time to take drastic action.

He slips around to the back of the house, gently opens the door and skips along the path leading to the forest. The stones make his progress difficult and the hooting of the owls frightens him, but he carries on. He knows it will be worth it.

In the distance, a soft glow begins to appear. The closer he gets, the gentler it becomes.

And there he is.

Before him lies a field of bluish flowers.

He steps forward.

— Hi, Émile.
— Good evening, Émile.
— We missed you, Émile.

Their whispers warm his grey thoughts.

— Tell us about your day…
— Argh, the seven times table…
— Brothers and sisters… it’s true, sometimes you wish you had a few fewer of them…
— Well, there’s an excellent reason to stop chewing gum.
— Of course your mum loves you…

He purrs.