((top)) - Mardy Bum

Their mum, folding laundry in the hallway, didn’t look up. “Oh, here we go. Mardy bum alert. Code red.”

Then Maya appeared, out of breath, holding a crumpled drawing. “Leo! I made this for you. It’s you… but smiling.” mardy bum

Leo slumped deeper into the sofa, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt so low it became a fabric cave. The world, he decided, was too loud, too bright, and too happy without his permission. Their mum, folding laundry in the hallway, didn’t look up

By lunchtime, the mard had reached critical mass. He refused to play football because “the grass was the wrong shade of green.” He sat alone on the damp bench, watching everyone else laugh, kick, trip, and get back up again. Code red

He scowled at the bird. The bird did not care.

“Love you too, Mardy bum.”

A tiny crack appeared in the wall of his mardy. Not a collapse. Just a hairline fracture. A snort escaped him. Then a giggle he couldn’t swallow. Then—he couldn’t help it—a real laugh, rusty and reluctant, like an old gate swinging open.