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The crane was a little one, my sister’s fingers having carefully creased the red paper. The paper was sparkly, a bit like flame, like a sister active and alive and well. Like a sister folding origami, believing in the future, in something better.

Another crane watched bitterly, looking too hard at the red crane’s sparkles, of the attention it got as it fell in the fireplace. There, it disintegrated, grey, a mini mushroom-shaped cloud. The fire slowly burned out, sputtering, struggling, the light disappearing.

Innocents  screamed and senseless deaths melted, radiating into the air and sky and sea. Guilt was a river, and the other crane drowned.

I miss you, Sadako.


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