“Remembrance Lanterns” — FWG Flash Fiction for 8/2/2025
- Rob Johnson
- Aug 8
- 2 min read
Some memories stick with us, no matter how hard we try to forget.
The prompt is:
REMEMBRANCE LANTERNS
The Remembrance Lanterns stretched off into the distance, and people added more as Joy watched.
“Every single one is someone’s dead loved one?” she asked.
Ahn shook his head. “Not necessarily. Most are dead friends and relatives, I suppose, but they honor anyone—or anything—that is lost.”
“Like car keys? Or the socks my dryer ate?”
Joy’s grin was mischievous, but Anh looked annoyed.
“They’re more serious than that. Placing a lantern here acknowledges that you will never see the lost person, or thing, again.”
“Well, those socks ain’t comin’ back,” Joy muttered.
Ahn opened his mouth to reply, but this time when he saw her smile, his voice softened.
“Maybe you should light one…for your socks.”
With a thoughtful look, Joy walked to the vendor selling the lanterns. The old man sitting cross-legged on the ground flapped his hand, and Joy knelt on the carpet in front of him.
“Whom, or what, are you remembering today?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Do I have to tell you?”
His eyes stared out of his wrinkled face directly into hers. Joy felt her soul pierced by his gaze. After a moment, he silently chose a specific lantern from his stock.
“This one will work for you.”
He lit the lantern and held it out to her. When she took it, he clasped her hand in both of his.
“Remember her,” he whispered, and Joy gasped, then nodded.
As she rejoined Ahn, he asked, “Remember who?”
But Joy just shook her head. “It was a long time ago.” Then, suddenly, her face clouded. “This is stupid. I never should have—”
Embarrassed, she blew out her flame and, in the swirling wisps of smoke, she saw the face of her lost love before it wafted away on the breeze.
THE END
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