I paused, as I always did, as I wandered past the corner my mother had set up all those years ago. It was basically a shrine to my father who had been killed during the war. It comprised his photograph, the phone she had first heard the news on, and the candles we used as remembrance. There was something different this time.
“Sophie, are these your crayons?” I scolded my young child.
“I thought Granddad would like them.”
There was nothing to do but smile. “Do you know, he would have loved them… But probably not on his face!”
I wrote this in response to this week’s Friday fictioneers prompt.