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The rain had settled in, battering the roof with staccato precision.

‘Now’s the perfect time,’ Mum said, appearing in the doorway with a large cardboard box.

‘Is it a present?’ Lucy asked, bouncing up and down.

Mum gave a smile. ‘Not quite. It’s time to sort through that stack of stuff.’ She nodded at the jumble of toys and games that had been tossed into the back corner of the living room.

‘That’s not a present,’ Lucy frowned, crossing her arms.

Mum passed the box to Henry. ‘You never know what you might find in there. Let’s see what you no longer need or want. I’ll be back in a bit to see how you go.’

Henry put the box down and Lucy ran over to peer inside, ever the optimist. ‘There’s nothing in it, Luce. Come on, let’s see what’s here.’ He knelt beside the tottering pile, wondering where to begin. Lucy started grabbing at bits on the side, pulling out books and bits of board games, and her enthusiasm made Henry laugh.

‘You can’t keep everything.’

‘But these are my favourites!’ Lucy protested.

Henry shook his head as the surrounding floor filled with piles of neglected toys that Lucy kept adding to. Deciding to show her how to do it, Henry put some old building blocks and a handful of figurines with missing parts into the box.

‘What have you got there?’

Lucy had stopped grabbing from the pile and was holding something round in her hand. She looked up with a grin. ‘It’s a magic ball. You shake it like this,’ she vigorously jiggled the ball, ‘and it tells you something.’

Henry reached a hand out. ‘Can I see?’

‘If it’s not yours, it’s mine.’ Lucy gripped the ball with both hands.

‘It could be mine. I might have just forgotten about it.’

With a sigh, Lucy handed the ball over. Henry was surprised at the weight of it, and gave it a gentle shake as Lucy watched, oblivious now to the bright mass of plush toys and plastic that surrounded them.

‘Yes. No. Maybe. Better not.’ Henry murmured the words that appeared on the screen. Lucy giggled and moved closer.

‘Do you think it’s trying to tell us something?’

Henry grinned. ‘Could be. What should we ask it first?’

This was written to a prompt in my local writing group.

Photo: Waste to Art, Lithgow