I never thought I'd end up here. Again. And yet here I am, carefully laying down crimson red flowers on the stones that she lay beneath.
Once, when we were sitting together on the beach, she had looked up at me from where she lay on the sand. "I like red flowers," she said. "Dark red ones."
I had laughed. "And why are you bringing this up?"
She bit her lip. "You remember, when mom-"
"Well, she said that she wanted to be buried next to a river."
I swallowed, already knowing where she was getting at. "I don't think that you should worry about this now."
She looked at me directly in the eyes. "When I die, I want flowers. Red ones."
Not two months earlier, we had been sitting together on a muddy river bank, making paper cranes like mom had taught us how. We sat there for hours, maybe days. I don't know. I still don't. I guess I never will. After we finished making all 1000, we let them drift into the waters. Sometimes, I wonder if they are still there. She always loved making cranes--both of them. But she never asked for cranes on her grave. She wanted flowers. Red ones.
"Hey Jane," I whispered, not sure why I kept my voice low. No one was around, but even if they were, they couldn't hear me over the wind. I dug my fingernails into the dirt. "When I die, I want flowers on my grave. Red ones."
Written for The Very Unoriginal rosemarywidsom Contest. You can find more info here.