The Leading of Paper Cranes

Chapter 3: Birdwatching

The car ride was unimaginably uneventful, for me at least, my parents were rambling on about how "they haven't gone out in such a long time". My interior voice mocks them in the worst voice possible. Besides that, they went out last week leaving me home alone, I wouldn't say that it was "such a long time ago", but to each their own. I was peering out the window watching as birds started migrating before the winter season. Some were faster than others. Sometimes I wish I could be one of the quick birds, zooming across the sky from one destination to the next. I stopped my train of thought before my brain became too fast for my own good.

We arrive at the church. The funeral car is also pulling in. I sit in the car while my father tries to find a parking spot as close to the church as possible. He completely negates any other parking spots in mind, he thinks he is the prom king of the funeral. My mom is dressed like a queen, whether or not that is good or bad is dependant up to whether lofty dresses are appropriate for funerals. Quite honestly it's over the top and unnecessary. Nevertheless we get a parking spot six spots away from the door. My parents were always amazing at planning I guess, getting here before all the other guests. Not to mention the reception looks beautiful. Fitting for her own beauty.

We head inside. I stare at the chandelier for longer than I should. Jazz snuck up behind me somehow, he somehow knew I was lost in my train of thought and decided to take the opportunity.

"Jazz can you not." I say as if he would actually stop. I still don't understand why mom and dad let him over as guests when Maveah used to invite him over.

"Cmon', you were vulnerable," Jazz says with a smirk, "You never know whether the killer will strike again..."

I stood there, blankly staring into the eyes of red that Jazz has. Maybe of his passion, maybe of his love, maybe of his anger for Maveah's death... or maybe of the blood he has spilled. "Yeah... Maybe"

"Anyways, how have you been?" he questions me as if he is the cop and I'm the criminal, "It's been awhile, you haven't gone to school in the past few weeks.."

I completely forgot I took a long hiatus from school. It felt more unsafe than ever. "Uhh, best I probably could be.". I really want to question him, turn the tables, flip the switch, something to make sure that his eyes are a vibrant red and not a mulled out red. "Jazz, I would like to ask."

"What's up?" He responds quickly.

I need to ask the right question, if not I could no doubt mess this up. "Actually I have two questions, first, what is your interpretation on a paper crane?"

He look puzzled, but responds hastily. "Well, they are a craft more complicated than just being a singular piece of paper. Each fold plays a different part, each crease is a decision made by its maker and not every single one is the same. To say a crane is something simple would be a complete understatement and quite rude to the artist who made them. It, in all honestly, is a craft that completely represents your sister, Maveah. They're fragile, complicated yet simple, and made and based off of... of simply something simple." He pauses as if he needs a moment. "Humankind is similar, not every person is the same. Just like every snowflake isn't, just like every harvest of crops, just like every cloud in the sky isn't the same from end to end. To every detail, a human can seem complicated, yet made of something very simple, or similar and not bewildering. To whoever is the killer, they really must be so simple-minded or so.. so... so inconsiderate about how a paper crane is made. Anyways, what else did you want to ask me?" He stops speaking, smiling in his tracks, smiling so big that it seems out of place during a funeral.

He really can read my mind, he answered my second question just like that. "Oh nothing, forget I even mentioned..."

Jazz's smirk leaves as if he wanted to answer more of my questions. I take one last long look into his eyes which transform into a purple. Not a saddened blue, or a vibrant red. Simply a majestic purple, fit for almost any occasion.

I get ready for the reception, more importantly the time where I actually get to see my sister. I haven't seen her in such a long time. I practically sleep through the prayers. More or less just laying my head down pretending to be praying, or crying, or something appropriate for the time. I listen to them, but don't try to comprehend them further. My mind wanders off, possibly daydreaming. Dreaming that Maveah was alive again, and she would give me another paper crane for my Christmas gift.

It's now the time. It is now the time for me to see Maveah. I graze her visage like it's a field of flowers. Running through a field, watching every colour petal getting blown into the wind. Reminds me of her innocence, her fragility, her... I look at her deeply into her shut eyes and silky hair. A little paper crane stood at the top of the coffin. I again try to cry. However I still can't. I still can't grieve over the loss of the best creation of a paper crane she was. It makes me infuriated. Infuriated that I can't get upset over not being able to become sad. It seems selfish, but it is and I am not afraid to admit it. I just want to cry in honours of my sister to make myself feel better.

On the way out of the chapel there was a concession stand. It was filled to the brim with paper cranes. Not Maveah's but something to remind me of her nonetheless. The lady there was nice, she tried to comfort me. I still took a crane even though it would put another dagger right through my heart. It started to snow, making my crane all wet, and staining it a bloodcurdling soft blue.

I read this one phrase in a book.

    Let the long string guide a puppeteer, every string has a purpose
    The right hand controls decision
    The left steers
    The head guides
    Both feet lead the automaton on the right direction
    If any strings are detached or any parts faulty, the whole body will not function

They all seem the same, but nuanced enough to seem diverse. I question to myself, which part am I? Am I making the right decisions, am I making myself a guide or steering myself? Am I even making any decisions, am I just on autopilot? It seems as if so. Puppeteering in of itself is interesting. Really wish I could make it a career. My parents would go livid if I did.