Dawson Filter sat on a porch, polishing an object. Suddenly, he realized that origami was sort of neat, and went inside the house to which the porch was attached. Seeing that Sylvester Denny happened to be in the house, Dawson Filter decided to talk to him.
“Hello, Sylvester,” he said, “remember that porch that exists? Well, let me tell you: I was sitting on it when I decided to like origami.”
“Oh, boy!” Sylvester Denny exclaimed, “I sure hope nothing terrible happens as a direct result of this.”
Dawson Filter found a stack of paper in an otherwise empty closet to his left. Seeing that some of the pieces had sharp edges, Sylvester Denny slipped a pair of oven mitts onto a pair of hands that were attached to his wrists. After taking the top piece, Dawson Filter contorted the piece of paper into a bent piece of paper. He folded it again, forming a shape not unlike this:
Seeing that he was getting no squares fast, Dawson Filter, accompanied by Sylvester Denny, left the house. On the porch, they saw an origami festival.
“Oh,” said Dawson Filter, “that’s probably where I got the idea from.”
“(unintelligible),” Sylvester Denny replied.
The duo was greeted by Makayla Pundit, a local arsonist. She had decided to attend the festival to find out how to spell ‘origami;’ but, having accomplished her goal sooner than she’d expected, had taken to greeting various duos.
“No, I don’t know how to make squares yet. I’ve gotten pretty legit at making paper flowers, though,” she said, having got to a point in the conversation where she was answering questions.
“You could just show me that,” Dawson Filter said, “and then I could just figure out how to build off of that to make a square.”
Makayla Pundit burned down a forest until there was only a single sheet of wood remaining. She treated it the caustic soda, sulfurous acid, and anthraquinone; and began to fold it for Dawson Filter. Sylvester Denny took notes.
“So, you fold it like this, and then you do other stuff,” she explained.
“Neato!” Sylvester Denny remarked. It might not seem like a particularly noteworthy thing to remark, but we’re still talking about it.
Dawson Filter tried his hand at the process of paper-flower building. He folded it and did other stuff. His flower was perfect. Sylvester Denny hung his head in irrelevance, aware that the notes he’d taken on the paper-flower building process were unnecessary to Dawson Filter’s flower-making abilities. He saw a porch and felt better.
As the seconds slid by, and life slowly crept from Dawson Filter’s youthful face, Dawson continued to fold paper flowers. He’d amassed some dozen score when he slipped on one of the flowers, fracturing his lower femur.
A spark shot up from the ashes of the charred forest of Makayla Pundit. It landed on a nearby fire hazard, setting it ablaze. Not only was this fire hazard an heirloom of a local merchant, but it was also connected to all other local fire hazards.
People ran in terror, but found no refuge. Because the fire had seen Dawson Filter’s love of origami, it trained itself to target everything anyone had ever loved.
The fire bored into the ground, reaching our planet’s core.
Flames shot up from Earth, bathing the moon in a sea of fire. Paper flowers drifted up to kindle the moon; and there was no night.