The Inner Child

Some of us grow up different. Don’t ask me why. Things started when I was a very small boy. One night, when I had been put down to bed in the back bedroom of the small semi my parents owned in west Hull, I recall watching a little blue man jump out of the mirror of the kid’s wardrobe I had in there. As if that were not enough, this little blue guy pulled out a gun, shot at me, and then leaped out through the window (through the glass). If I had been a bit older, I might have seen where things were headed generally, because my Dad was in that room so fast I don’t think I had even yet started to scream. I was so shocked. He,

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