Day the Ninth. This time we'll do a more-or-less all dialog story, of the kind Terry Bison used to write sometimes.
Fireflies
The scene: late summer, far from the city. The flickering of
fireflies still danced through the warm night air.
“I caught one!”
“Look at it. It keeps wriggling towards the light.”
“Yeah, they’re persistent, but pretty ugly.”
“I think it’s beautiful, even if it doesn’t have the right number of legs or the right number of eyes.”
“I think it’s beautiful, even if it doesn’t have the right number of legs or the right number of eyes.”
“Can I keep it? I’ll put it in a jar and feed it every
night, I promise.”
“Now, what did I say?”
“That keeping them is cruel.”
“And what happened to the last one?”
“…”
“well…?”
“I PROMISE I won’t let this one die. I promise!”
“Look at it. It isn’t even full-grown yet. Just give it a
dream of something pleasant and let it go.”
Billy yawned, got up from the corner of the yard where he must
have fallen asleep. He brushed some grass off his pants and headed inside, the
memory of dancing lights fading from his mind.
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| Image by Brian Luong |
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