Sophia was sitting at the table, sharing her breakfast with the cast of thousands that accompany her everywhere, in her mind. She fished a Cheerio out of her bowl (a dry Cheerio, because the only safe way to eat Cheerios is with the milk on the side, to ward off the threat of sogginess), and began pinching it into tiny crumbs. She laid the crumbs out in piles in a semi-circle around her bowl, then called to a fly that was perched on the opposite end of the table, "Here you go, friend!"
"Are you feeding the flies?" I asked.
"I wouldn't bother."
"Because I'm about to swat them all," I said matter-of-factly. She stared at me for a moment, then looked back at her table-mate, the fly.
"Can you just..." she paused, searching for the right way to ask, then waved a hand in the air, "just sort of floop them outside instead? So they can go be with their friends?"
I looked back at her, fly swatter in hand, then sighed.
"I'll try," I said.