Paper boats

A white stack of papers with a rock placed neatly on top.  It keeps the wind from blowing them away.
But away is where they are going, but not at this moment.  First there is the ritual of folding. Each crease is brought to as close a razor edge as paper can come.  There is no room for error, as the admiral builds his fleet.
Every member of the flotilla adds to the glorious array of little white boats set in rank and file on the shore.  Each crewed by the best trained seamen, lead by fearless officers, and awaiting its launch into glory, to fight for flag and country.
A creek gently cascades down its course, rushing to be reunited with the sea.  The admiral is content with is preparations and launches the first salvo. The first tentatively place in the water and released, then another, and another, each launch more careless than the last.  Mass attack, overwhelm the enemy is the rule of the day.  The crumpled carcasses that litter the bottom of the stream are acceptable causalities in the quest for victory.
Finally the last is launched, off to glory, off to the sea.  Will they make it, will they succeed.  “Dinner, dinner” is being called from not so far away.  The war, the flotilla is quickly forgotten.