How To Fold 1000 Cranes

An entry for the Struck By Lightning Flash Fiction contest, with the following prompt:

A knock at your front door sounds. When you open the door, a strange looking vehicle is pulling away. You glance down to find a small package with a foreign address...

--------------------------------------------------
HOW TO FOLD 1000 CRANES

Tomas sipped his coffee and examined the package. It was very light, and made a faint shuffling noise when he shook it. The postmark showed it had come from Kyoto – clearly something from Fiona, his ex-wife. The parcel was impeccably wrapped, each fold knife-sharp. Shrugging, he unwrapped it. Within was a small box, covered in diagrams – circles, triangles, intersecting geometry and Japanese characters. The lid was delicately sealed with black wax. Tomas broke the seal, and lifted the lid. Inside, a folded sheet of paper, and a white origami crane.

The crane was light, perfectly crafted, the beak folded to a point finer than Tomas would have thought possible. He placed it on the counter and turned his attention to the note. Two lines in delicate script; if a person folds one thousand cranes, he or she will be granted a wish. Guess what I wish for, Tomas?

He knew exactly what Fiona would wish for, she’d told him enough times during the bitter divorce, Well fuck you, bitch, you’re nine hundred and ninety nine cranes short, and I’m still breathing. He turned to pour more coffee, and stopped halfway to the machine. Two identical cranes sat on the counter, side by side, their beaks pointed paper needles.

Grabbing the cranes, Tomas screwed them up with the note, shoved them in the box and threw it in the bin. He drained his coffee, threw his cup into the sink with enough force to chip it, and stormed out of the house to the car. Shit, keys. He turned and went back to the kitchen to grab them. I can’t believe she can piss me off from the other side of the world.

Tomas froze. Sixteen cranes sat in a row. He stood transfixed, and the cranes started to move, folding in on themselves, twisting round into a neat little packet, and then unfolding slowly creases disappearing. Somehow, as the packets emerged from themselves they became more cranes – thirty-two in total. They folded again.

He leapt forward and swept the cranes onto the floor, stamping on them, but for each crane he crushed, another two would fold into life. Soon, there were more than he could count, a multiplying sea of paper birds stretching across his kitchen floor. The sound of paper being folded filled the air, a whispered threat.

Then the cranes stopped multiplying. Tomas took half a breath, and he didn’t have to count to know that there were at least one thousand cranes arrayed about him. Guess what I wish for, Tomas?

The cranes launched themselves upwards. Razor sharp paper beaks penetrated skin like steel pins, embedding themselves in the soft flesh. Each snow white paper crane drank its fill from Tomas, the warm blood within staining them crimson before they fell to the floor.

Tomas stood for a moment, swaying slightly, then folded and fell.