Flash Fiction - Lanterns
Let there be light
“I don’t understand, Grandpa. Can you tell me again?”
The old man sighed heavily. He turned to look out the window, which was coated by a layer of winter frost. It was still early, but the darkness had already crept in, adding dark edges to the ice on the window. “It’s an offering, boy.”
“To who?”
“Whom.”
The boy looked confused.
The old my sighed again. “The proper way to was what you just asked is, to whom.” His grandson shrugged and continued to carefully write his name on the thin paper. “When you turn ten, you get to make a lantern on the longest night of the year.”
“Solstice?”
“That’s right, boy. You, and all the other kids in town send them up into the night sky, where the great God Illumina accepts your offer and allows us all to enjoy daylight again.”
“What if he doesn’t accept them?”
“He always does, kiddo. Always.” The old man looked at his grandson, an ache in his heart. He remembered his first lantern night, how excited he was to see his creation drift into the black sky. He was almost disappointed when he aged out of the ceremony at eighteen, but when he found out the real reason for the celebration, he realized he had dodged a bullet.
The boy pushed the paper across the table, a look of pride on his face at how good his handwriting was getting. “Did I do good, Grandpa.”
The ache grew a little stronger. “You did great.”
“What now?”
“Well, now I wrap your paper on this frame, and we head to town so that you can select your candle. Once everyone lights theirs, you release them and let Illumina choose.”
The boy’s eyes went wide, his mouth carved into a perfect O. “How does he choose?”
“Illumina will swallow all the candles but one, recharging himself for the coming year. The one that he does not swallow will fall back to earth. We will then see who is chosen.”
“What happens…”
The old man raised a trembling hand, the skin thinner than that of the lantern paper. “Enough questions, boy. I need to finish this so we can go. We can’t be late.”
“I hope I’m chosen.”
The vice around his heart squeezed a little tighter, but he remained quiet, wishing for once that his grandson’s wishes didn’t come true.
The parents and grandparents watched, worry etched on every face, as the children gleefully launched their homemade lanterns into the air. They rose slowly, seeming to form new constellations in the night sky, rising higher and higher.
“This is torture,” the old man said, nudging the man standing by his side.
“You go that right, Jed, but it’s the only way.”
Jed grunted. “I’m almost glad his parents passed before they had to witness this.
“You and your boy made it through this. I’m sure your Charlie will make it, too.”
The crowd fell into silence, watching the lanterns rise higher. Some clasped their hands in silent prayer, while others closed their eyes, unable to watch.
After what seemed like an eternity, the clouds parted, allowing access to all the lanterns, save for one. The lone lantern drifted back to earth, the paper turning black as it slowly dropped to the ground. The crowd held their breath until Charlie cried out, “Grandpa, I won.”
Jed felt his heart skip a beat, the fear on his face quickly transferring to his grandson, who realized that winning wasn’t the prize he expected.
The crowd looked to the sky and watched as a massive hand came down and plucked the boy off the ground, his screams quickly vanishing as he disappeared into the night sky, along with the last of the lanterns.
“Illumina be praised,” the crowd chanted before taking their children home, where the process of erasing the memory of the night would begin. Those memories would be returned when they turned 18 and aged out of the ceremony. Some would grim accept, while others would go mad.
For Jed, the madness began now.
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