This is my Friday Fictioneers submission for 17.10. Eagle-eyed readers will spot that I’ve based it on the wrong photographic prompt. I’ve decided to post it anyway, because I quite like this one as a companion piece to this story. Time permitting, I may have a bash at Doug McIlroy’s proper photo but until then…
(nb, to clarify, I actually think the origami flower in the photo is very pretty, though obviously the protagonist disagrees)
Another tree planted; the same tedious commemoration ceremony. A thin faced man stutters out a flat elegy to a woman who used to love walking in these woods. He doubts this is true. Why would anyone enjoy walking in this receptacle of displaced grief. Next to the sapling is a stump, a comrade in arms felled last week. They’ll have made him into paper by now, to be scrawled on, or folded into some hideous origami trinket of love.
The mighty oak watches and wishes humans would learn to talk to one another whilst it still matters what they say.