1001 Cranes | ✔

Step Four

"How come you're always hiding your face with a hood?" a boy questions. He's a patron who drops by to send prayers in the mornings and afternoons. He's one of the only patrons. The monastery is located in the mountains, so not many visit to begin with.

     Stephen stops, midway from transforming a sheet of paper into a crane. This is the first time the boy has spoken to him. He masks on a stoic expression. "I have the ugliest hair in the world. I'm very self-conscious about it."

     "Oh, okay. Just wondering." The boy's gaze lingers on the paper Stephen has in his hands. "You have sharp nails."

     "I get weekly manicures."

     "Weird, but okay. What are you making?"

     "A crane."

     "Why?"

     Stephen frowns. "Because I can."

     "I see." His face lights up. "So if you teach me how to make one, does that mean I'll want to too?"

     Stephen almost regrets the next words that leave his lips. 

     "Sure, why not." He wanted solitude, but at the same time he couldn't resist the boy's request. Standing, he casts his almost-done crane to the side. "I'll get some paper for you. Stay here."

     The boy bobs his head in a hasty nod.

     Stephen sighs as he turns his back. He isn't supposed to get close to anyone for his own sake. He can't risk exposure. Not for anyone.

     He returns with a stack of multicolored papers in his hand. He sinks to the floor, but not before handing the boy a sheet of paper. It's a pastel combination of purples and pinks.

     "Thanks." The boy takes it. "By the way, I'm Griffin. I come here often, but I've yet to introduce myself to you."

     "Stephen."

     "Stephen, huh? Stephen. Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen-"

     "What?" Stephen snaps his head up.

     Griffin offers a sheepish grin. "Teach me the ways of origami, Stephen."

     "I'm getting there." Stephen creases his paper diagonally, reducing it into a triangle. "Step one: Fold your sheet like this. Make sure your fold is neat and the edges of the paper match." While demonstrating each step, he continues to provide articulate instructions for Griffin. Griffin follows along, pausing to shoot inquiries throughout the procedures.

     Griffin produces his first crane after a second attempt.

     "Look!" While beaming a smile brighter than the sun, he thrusts his perfect crane in Stephen's face. "Look what I made!"

     "Great," Stephen comments, with tamed enthusiasm. "Now you can make a thousand."

     Griffin blinks, confused. "What would I need to make a thousand for?"

     "There's an ancient legend that says something along the lines of this: If you make one thousand cranes, you'll be granted a wish."

     "A wish? A wish for anything?"

     "Anything."

     "Oh?" Griffin considers this, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Do you believe in this legend?"

     "I think it's just hopeful thinking." Stephens raises a brow. "Do you?"

     "Maybe, maybe not." Griffin shrugs. "You'd have to be really desperate to make a thousand cranes for a wish."

     You'd have to be really desperate to make a thousand cranes for a wish.

     For the first time in days, Stephen smiles. His smile is wolfish and appears to bear tricks behind sharp canines, but it is still a smile nonetheless. "You remind me of someone I know."

     "Really now?" Griffin scratches his neck. "Who?"

     "My best friend."

     After that, the two exchange a few more sessions of small talk before Griffin has to bid Stephen farewell.

     "I'll talk to you like this again if you need company," Griffin says, just before heading back to his small house in the mountains. He dips down in a clumsy bow. "Thank you for teaching me how to make a crane."

     Stephen waves him goodbye. He can't take risks, but it won't hurt to interact with someone every now and then.

     When nighttime falls and the doors are sealed, Stephen yanks open his drawer, grabs the note Alice had left him on the day of her disappearance (it's been gathering dust ever since), reads over it one final time, and converts it into a crane.

     Nine hundred and ninety-nine more to go.