Little Worlds by Derin Attwood

Why did I decide on black slate for the kitchen floor? It looked good when I redecorated, matched the shinning black bench, the stainless steel appliances.

That was then. Now, well the light drift of flour on the floor was the first thing I saw. Further in was a pile of salt, a puddle of milk and two broken eggs. Smudgy hand prints on everything.

Against the bench, two powdery wraiths floated into view. A big toothless smile from one as the other dripped milk from her hair onto the globulous mess she knelt in.

“We’re making a world,” she said.

“Mapth and thingth,” her sister corrected. “Daddy thaid we can help him cook dinner.”

“We started without him.”

His words floated past me.

“They’re precious, the light of my life, my whole world.”

I sat in the car and heaved a sigh of relief. It was my night out.

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