She silences the shouting, excludes the slamming fists, thrown bottles, and smashing glass. She shrinks her family to size and seats them around the laid table. Through the spy hole she sees them serving each other generous helpings—Mum sitting square and smiling; Dad asking with interest about her school day; her button-cute brother, bright and cheeky, making them laugh.
She used a mustard lid for a table and made chairs out of Dad’s beer tops, glued onto corks.
She covered the battered shoe box with magazine pictures of trees.
Inside she painted the sides—clean, pure, dazzling white.
This story was shortlisted in the June monthly micro fiction competition.
About the author: Emily Macdonald was born in England but grew up in New Zealand. Fascinated by wine as a student, she has worked in the wine trade ever since. Now freelance, she writes short stories and flash. In writing and in wines she likes variety, persistence, and enough acidity to add bite.