Fireflies

Fireflies lit up that summer I turned six.
My brothers decided to show me the art of firefly catching.

Casey and I ran down the creaky stairs to the dimly lit storage room. My heart beat with excitement as we grabbed a couple of canning jars. Poking holes on top, we allowed the fireflies to breathe.

Hand in hand with my two brothers, I stepped outside and breathed the scent of honeysuckles. The fireflies’ lights dotted the evening sky, capturing my heart and imagination. They were ballerinas gliding across a starlit stage.

Tyson caught one of them. I took a breath, scared of what would happen next. He immediately put her in the jar. The jar blazed with light. Tyson and Casey soon caught others, and each time the light grew brighter.

Now it was my turn. I gently caught her, feeling her heart beat pulsing through me. Tenderly placing her in the jar, I reflected on the glass walls that held her in. I opened the lid, setting her free. Shining so brightly against the dark night, I longed to be her, flying free. Still in the jar, protected from the storms of life. One day I would be set free into the night and would have to make the choice to shine.