Hi Everyone! I originally posted this story about two weeks ago but I feel like it fits this prompt a lot better! I submitted this story to a writing competition a little while back and I recently learned that it has been chosen to be a finalist in the competition! Enjoy and lmk what you think!

The scintillating sun spills its tears across my face. They rain down, falling onto my cheeks, caressing my skin, and leaving behind gentle whispers. Lavender haze soaks its way into my eyes, and the pollen from the dainty daffodils disguises my woes with each breath I take. I drag my feet across the cracked stones of the garden with one arm strained. The muscles in my right forearm clench as they struggle to carry the wavering weight of the watering can. The water swishes around the tenebrous interior and tiny droplets spill out the sides. The water cascades down to the pavement, falling along with my tears.

The sounds of echoing footsteps grow in my ears as Danny approaches the entrance to the garden. He carefully unlatches the dainty gate and hops around awkwardly before closing it with his left foot. The gate seals itself with a click, and he begins to make his way over to me, accidentally shattering more than one plant pot lying in his path. A mountainous pile of old photographs and memorabilia blocks his view. Spare images fall to the ground as he struggles to make his way across the rocky pathway. I plaster a smile on my face and wipe away any lingering droplets that still sizzle against my skin. An empty patch of grass is where he individually sets each object down, moving every picture; he lines them up just right. Danny stirs about the garden at a snail's pace, carrying burdens too heavy for an eleven-year-old.

I take a seat on a rock after brushing away some lingering soil. I motion to him, and Danny scoots closer. His body squeezes up tightly, holding in a squeal as water forms underneath his eyes. He drapes his chest across my legs and releases with a shudder and a sigh. I stroke my hands through his tarnished auburn hair and let his tears soak into my lap. His breathless coughs echo about the garden. The peonies and roses recoil as his wails plunge into the soil. I pull Danny to his feet and stare into his red-stained scleras. A sniff escapes as I dust away the tears adhering to his eyes.

I grasp one of his hands and lead him across the pavement to the outskirts of the garden. We take a seat next to where the soil begins, and I hold him close to my chest as he stares at the area around us. Here no flowers lie nor any shiny lights and festive streamers. The outer wall presents a bleak black exterior with white polka dots, which wither willingly. Mold runs throughout like a river, stale and still. The dreary site is watched over by a great oak. The tree stands tall, patiently waiting for something to bring it out of its slumber. I plunge my fingers into the soil nearest the roots of the tree, making small holes and divots.

“Hand me some of those pictures, will ya?” I mumble to Danny. He rises slowly and grabs a handful of photographs from the pile he left them in.

Danny hands me the Polaroids, and I lay them out in front of me; my fingers tremble with the weight they carry. I ball my hands into fists and bury them deep into my shorts pockets, hiding them from memories they don’t wish to remember. From the corner of my eye, I spot Danny huddled over a picture that lays flat on the cracked tile. I reluctantly reveal but one hand and reach for the photograph that draws his eyes closer like a magnet. I begin to drag the image across the sun-soaked stone, and I bring it to my face.

The image is of a family no longer complete. They all wear smiles, a sight just as tangible as the sun glowing in the sky. The four pose together, standing tall as trees beneath a giant sun umbrella. The littlest boy covers his face with a jumbo-sized beach ball, Danny. I stand beside him with one arm draped over his shoulder. The other rests on our mother’s forearm, which is pulled downwards by the weight of our towels and swim bags. Nevertheless, her eyes glow bright blue, and her face shows no sign of wrinkles. Father stands on the far left, and he holds himself the tallest. His eyes squint from the sun, but they radiate pure joy. That day was like any other. The waves were perfect, just the right height, but calm enough so you could go for a ride.

I remember wishing those moments would last forever, but it's impossible to relive days like that. I carry my sadness as a fond memory, letting it linger close by. Sorrow stays with me because I let it be there, not because it deserves to be. Happiness is too risky to love. It hangs around for minutes but leaves you disappointed when it runs away. Following that day at the beach, everything felt like paradise. But, I was stupid enough to let my happiness consume me and neglect the impending tragedy. Happiness ruined my life, and if I were to welcome the joy back in, I would only be disappointed by it again.

“Why did they deserve to die?” Danny’s voice interrupts my intrusive thoughts. He barely speaks louder than a whisper and averts his eyes from my gaze. I grind my teeth together and set the picture back down. I gaze into Danny's eyes for a few moments, studying the once bright blue pupils that danced with hope. He hardly wants to talk to me anymore, or anyone for that matter. Danny moves back to shuffling photographs, pretending he never spoke.

"Danny, do you honestly believe what happened to them was their fault?" I take a deep breath and calm myself down before continuing, "They didn't deserve what happened to them, and you know that." I raise a hand to Danny’s chin and tilt his face upwards so that his distant eyes stare directly into mine.

“The accident wasn’t their fault Danny, and you need to understand that,” I plead to the lonely boy, who stares back at me expressionless. “No one can plan for a hit and run, but we are the ones who suffer from the consequences. It is our right to grieve but that doesn’t mean we have to assert blame,” I finish saying with a sigh. I don’t push any further and drop the subject before things continue to escalate. It’s hard enough for me to process, but that doesn’t mean I get to shove my feelings onto someone else.

I let go of Danny’s chin and wrap my arms around his trembling body. I pull him into a tight embrace, and he rests his head on my shoulder. A few tears slip out of his eyes and run down the length of his face. More droplets begin to flow and they soak up in a wet puddle on my shirt, but I don’t mind.

I squeeze him tightly, whispering words of comfort into his ears, in an attempt to release some of his pain. I pull away and let him have a moment to himself. His eyes are red and puffy but glimmer with faint hope.

I rise to my feet and make my way back to the entrance of the garden. I run my fingers along the wavy top of the gate and make my way to the farthest edge the wooden barrier protects. I carefully lift the rock with the bright blue dot that resembles a turtle. It was a paint stain from when I was nine, but now it’s just another difficult memory. I set the rock aside and begin scanning the ground below. My arms act as shovels as they dig farther into the soil, searching for buried treasure. I dust away the remaining dirt to find mom’s old denim handbag that we buried so long ago. The bag’s handle hangs flimsily, with just a few stitches keeping it attached. I carefully transport the bag back to Danny and spill out the colorful contents for him to see.

Paper flowers flow out of the bag like a waterfall. Their colors shine brightly and they come in every shade of the rainbow and the colors in between. It’s easy to tell that each flower was folded with care and love. Among the rest, it’s easy to spot which ones Danny and I made. Our flowers look like blobs compared to the perfect shapes our mother managed to produce.

“Do you remember when we made these with mom?” I ask Danny, and he nods back at me, a faint smile playing at the corner of his cracked lips.

“I think it’s time that we make some more,” I say, handing Danny a sheet of paper tucked deep inside another pocket of the bag. I guide Danny through the steps and show him how to fold the neon orange paper into a flower.

He follows my lead, his hands shaking a little as he works. Danny stares back at me with a spark of interest and carefully follows the instructions I try to remember as he folds along.

We work side by side, folding papers in silence as the sun beams down at us. My motions become repetitive, each flower a work of art uniquely created. Danny works just as quickly, replicating my flowers as best as he can. We work for hours creating all types of flowers until our hands ache with a comforting pain. By the time we finish, the pile in front of us is almost up to my knees.

“We should put them somewhere special,” I tell Danny, and we both begin to look around, searching for a spot that feels just right. My gaze lingers upon the old oak tree hiding in the secluded corner of the garden. Its trunk stands tall, and its branches reach high into the sky. I know in a heartbeat that this is where the paper flowers belong.

Together we walk over to the tree. I hoist Danny onto my shoulders and hand him some of the flowers that rest in my hands. He decorates the branches, taping our creations in the places where leaves used to grow. He tucks them within the crevices of the branches, and they shine brightly with the last light from the sun.

We step back and admire the art piece we’ve created. What seems to be one-hundred flowers decorate the tree, acting as beacons of hope shining up at the sky. The flowers offer peace but don’t heal completely. It would take a million flowers to fill the holes left in our hearts, but Danny and I can move forward together. We can carry with us the memory of our parents, while also taking time to embrace the beauty of the world we share around us.

I take Danny’s hand in mine, and we walk out of the garden side by side, leaving our creation behind us. Together, we are paper flowers withstanding the winds the world blows at us. As we grow together, our papery exterior hardens and becomes a beauty woven together and made stronger by our grief. Hand in hand we carry on, letting our grief travel with us like a tissue forgotten in the pocket of an old winter coat.

Danny strides ahead and noisily clambers back into the house. I gently shut the gate to the garden, and I place the metal latch in its holster. Far in the distance, the sun begins to set against the trees. As the sun begins to fall, the humidity that looms in the air melts away, and a clement breeze settles into place. Change dances throughout the sky and washes over me in blankets. I resist the urge to sulk and instead stand tall like our father. My sullen expression is replaced by a smile, just like our mother would always find a way to do. I allow myself to feel proud, and I don’t resist as the happiness sinks in. I take a deep breath and turn away from the garden as I let the air out with a gentle puff.

I walk slowly up towards the house, ascending each stone step while staring intently at the world around me. I start to open the front door, my eyes still locked on the hazy orange sky. The sun is a crumpled paper ball on the horizon, and two stars sparkle brightly amongst the dandelion sky. I wish to call out to them, but instead, I hold my head high and throw open the front door with one final push, leaving the starry shadows at my back. I lock the door behind me and press my face against the cool mahogany wood.

“I love you,” I whisper, knowing they will hear it somehow.