Ashes on Snow (Microfiction)

Midnight, snowfall.

In candlelight, a boy sits near a window, cold, scribbling with a yellow crayon. The ink fades quickly.

The wind blows, fierce—it smells like lemons.

Day.

There is a picture, a soldier’s medal. An urn. A scrap of paper lies in the fireplace, burnt, brown lettering illegible.

Spring’s flower blooms.

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Author's Note: For the 53-word story contest. I think I was trying to weave in too much info into this piece—I'm not sure if the hints were too subtle. Let me know if you have any ideas as to what I was trying to communicate!