Each and Every April - Laurence Sullivan
One of the Top 24 submissions in our 2022 Urban Tree Festival writing competition.
Each and Every April
Mrs. Ozeki’s favourite tree finally came into focus. An explosion of pink, the weeping cherry blossom’s flowers fell in wisps like candy floss. Beneath its branches lay a little bench, which she ambled towards and then came down to rest upon.
Exhaling deeply, she unwrapped two rice balls and placed them beside herself. One for her, the other for her husband, Kaito.
“Do you remember him?” Mrs. Ozeki said aloud, her eyes fixed forward on the picnicking families. “No, I’m sure you do.”
Mrs. Ozeki picked up one rice ball and pushed the other to the empty side of the bench.
“You can have it,” she said, looking back towards the tree. “Not like he can come and collect it anymore…”
The tree’s branches blew gently in the breeze, tickling the back of her neck as Kaito once would. A few of its petals shook loose, landing on the unclaimed rice ball in the process.
Mrs. Ozeki smiled to herself, her fingers caressing the blossoms fondly. Then her eyes fell upon the tree’s trunk, which had only grown thicker with time. She, meanwhile, had worn away – thinner than washi paper – purple hues spreading out like inkblots beneath her skin.
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten us just yet,” she whispered. “You made our first date with these branches – the privacy you provided us was much appreciated!”
A sudden gust sent a shower of blossoms over Mrs. Ozeki, bathing her in a youthful pink hue.
“I’m always young again around you!”
Laurence Sullivan
Laurence Sullivan is a PhD candidate at Northumbria University, appearing in over sixty publications, he started writing fiction as an undergraduate.
