Julian reached for his pencils without looking at them and selected one. His eyes never left his notepad, which was covered in meticulous numbers.

Four was his favourite and he had a soft spot for any of the multiples thereof. Seventeen was an awkward number, a lot like nineteen. Ten was reassuring and stable but twenty four had its own comforts. Thirty six was his favourite multiple of four. Seven upset him greatly and he tried to avoid it as best he could, despite the fact that he would be seven next year.

He didn’t need that much really; just his notepad, his numbers and possibly MUM or DAD or KEZZIE, even if they did have loud voices and strange behaviour. He couldn’t speak very well but he made his own attempts at communication.

At dinner KEZZIE gave him some chips; he counted without having to look. There were twelve. As she set them down on the floor next to him, he handed her some paper from his notebook. The calculations on the notepaper were too complex for her to fully understand but at the end there was the number 15101991.165 with a ring around it.

She placed it with the others on the fridge. It was the sixth equation that he had thought of for her. There were four for her mother and nine for her father. They called them ‘Julian’s Number Drawings’ and signed his name on them. He still couldn’t write yet.

Want to comment on this Flash Fiction? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...