Once upon a never, a little girl was not. She had neither an evil step-mother nor a knight in shining armour. She did not have curly blonde hair, and she never wore pink. Nor did she ever wander in the woods that wouldn’t be found near her grandmother’s house. She did not talk to strangers – she didn’t talk very much at all – and she had never come across a hungry, talking wolf. Mostly, she spent none of her time sewing.
The little girl who was not, you see, was born a little boy. But the little boy who was, was not very happy. He neither played rugby nor rescued fair maidens. He never drew his sword. Mostly, he liked to dress up and pretend to be a Somebody.
Somebodies were important, you see. They had the power to say and do. They had the power to be. The little boy who was not a little girl wished and wished he could be a Somebody – preferably a Somebody in sparkly red heels.
He did not wish upon a star. He just wished, and bit by bit, the little boy who was not a little girl started to change, and grow, into a little girl who was not a little boy. Slowly, bit by bit, the little girl who was not became somebody who was not quite,
who was almost,
My first story to be published in Jiggered!