Golden flames flickered in Oshima’s misty eyes as she floated the paper lantern, engraved with her granny’s name, down the river. She had traveled miles to participate in this age-old tradition of helping the departed return to the spirit world peacefully.
Orphaned at the age of six, she was single-handedly raised by the feisty woman. A gifted-storyteller, the octogenarian had supported her dream to be a writer. Today, while lighting the candles, Oshima remembered how the lines on the old woman’s face would deepen whenever she talked about the fateful day when a blinding flash and a fluffy mushroom claimed her husband’s life.
P.S. The prompt took me to Tōrō Nagashi, a ceremony celebrated in remembrance of the dead in Japan. The story is also a humble attempt to commemorate the people who lost their lives in the horrific Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings on 6th and 9th Aug 1945.
Written for Friday Fictioneers
PHOTO PROMPT © Carla Bicomong