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"Firefly" (the forty-eighth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Firefly" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (DST), August 15, 2005 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Firefly By lee10@host365.com (Entry #6) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| There were a few times when Howard
wished he wasn’t a Granddad. This was one of them. Howard and his wife Mary had only had boys; three of them. So little girls were still a mystery to him. If Mary hadn’t died last year, Howard would have walked away, leaving this noisy bundle of girlhood for her to deal with. As it was, he was on his own. He had no option but to cope, though goodness alone knew how. “Serena,” he murmured to his granddaughter. “It’s not that bad, surely?” His hands fluttered ineffectually in the air over her head. Serena, wriggling on the carpet and kicking at a table leg, squealed even louder. “It is! It is! It is, Gran’pa!” Her cries increased in intensity. Howard knelt by her side “Come on. Let me give you a hug. Let me make it better.” Serena unravelled, rolled over and threw herself into his arms, smearing tears and snot onto his pullover. “Oh, Gran’pa,” she sobbed. “They all hate me. They do! They do!” Howard sat on the floor with this alien but much loved creature in his lap. “Sh-sh,” he crooned as she snuggled closer. “There, there. It’ll be all right. I promise.” He’d have called for help but his son Rodney, Serena’s Daddy, was working overseas and his daughter-in-law, Jess, was a nurse at the local Infirmary. She was doing double shifts because of the ‘flu epidemic and couldn’t get away. So Howard had to calm this stubborn little lady down, then coax her into her costume and onto the stage for her school’s end of term concert. Bribery, he thought, might do the trick. It had always worked with the boys. “How about,” he suggested, “we have a McDonald’s after the concert?” “Pizza?” “O.K. Pizza it is. But we’d best get moving.” “Don’t wanna!” “No concert, no pizza,” he whispered in her ear. Grumbling, her tear-streaked face red-mottled and splotchy, Serena rolled from her Granddad’s lap. “Oh, all right,” she grizzled. Howard struggled to his feet and held out his hand, “Come on then, up the apples and pears. We’ll have that face washed for a start.” Reluctantly, Serena took his hand and let him lead her upstairs to the bathroom where Howard found a pink flannel and wiped away as many of the traces of the tantrum as possible. He brushed her hair. “Ouch, Gran’pa.” “Sorry, sweetie.” With more care, he tied her dark hair back into a ponytail. “Now for your costume, love,” he said. “Do I have to Gran’pa?” “Pizza!” he replied. * As Howard drove to the school, he listened again to his granddaughter’s complaints. “She doesn’t like me,” Serena stated. “Who doesn’t like you?” Howard negotiated some appalling parking in the High Street. “Mrs.Bee, of course. She likes Angela and Georgina and Wendy. But she doesn’t like me.” “Why ever not, pet?” Rodney papped his horn at his friend Henry, who was holding them up while he meandered over the zebra crossing. “’Cos!” “Because why?” “Just ‘cos.” “Explain.” “Well.” Serena took a deep breath. “We’ve got this concert, right? And Wendy’s a beautiful butterfly. She’s got a pretty blue costume with sequins and silvery wings, ‘n Angela’s a green dragonfly ‘n she’s got a greeny-purple costume and fairy boots ‘n Georgina’s a yellow moth.” She paused for breath. “And she’s got gold bootees.” She pointed at her black, leotard-clad legs and her black trainers. “And all I’ve got is this horrid, black costume.” “Ah, but you’re a firefly and you’ve got a lamp,” Howard reminded her, “and nobody else has a lamp, have they?” He accelerated away from a green traffic light. Serena thought about this. “No,” she admitted. “I’m the only one with a lamp.” “So?” her Granddad asked. “Doesn’t that mean that maybe Mrs.Bee likes you, or she wouldn’t trust you with the one and only lamp?” Serena was quiet for a long time while her six year-old mind struggled to come to terms with this new concept. “Do you think, Gran’pa", she turned to him, “that Mrs.Bee likes me more than she likes Georgina ‘n Wendy ‘n Angela?” “I do, sweetheart,” he said earnestly. “I really, really do.” He slowed the car outside the school, spotted a space amongst the other parents’ cars and squeezed his old Ford into the gap. “Come on, love. Let’s go and wow your audience.” * Mrs.Bee, the school’s music teacher had done an excellent job. All the pupils took an active part in the concert; a group of seven year olds played their recorders almost in tune and almost in time; Harry, the boy who lived next door to Serena, did tiss-overs wearing a velvety monkey suit and didn’t once tread on his tail, and a very poised eight year-old, with a bare midriff and a skirt shorter than her Dadddy should have allowed, sang one of the latest pop songs. And Howard could see why Serena was so jealous of Wendy, Georgina and Angela. They simpered with small girl smugness as they flitted about the stage in a woodland dance. They were rather heavy-footed but their costumes were very pretty and glittered under the artificial stage lighting. Then the lights dimmed and it was Serena’s turn. Mrs.Bee had told her she mustn’t smile or wave at her Grandfather, so she did neither. She stared straight ahead as she walked onto the stage, a lonely, small, dark shadow preceding her. A battery-powered lantern on a pole rested on her shoulder and cast an ethereal white glow across her features. Then the lights went out altogether. The audience gasped and several small children burst into tears. Howard heard a bustle from the back of the room and assumed that someone had rushed out to flip the trip switch back on. Despite the dark, Mrs.Bee began to play the piano accompaniment and on cue, Serena sang her song. All the mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles focused on her face, that one bright spot in the room. It was only a simple song, written by Mrs.Bee herself, about a firefly who could only go out at night and couldn’t play with the other woodland folk. It was obvious why Serena had one of the solo spots. Her voice was pure and true and she caught the melody’s haunting message. As she finished singing, Serena switched off the lantern, leaving the hall in pitch-blackness, but as the applause rose, the overhead lights came back on. Serena smiled now. Howard heard the lady on his right sigh, “Oh, the little darling”, and he felt proud as he wiped tears from his eyes. * Howard waited at the school entrance with all the other relatives for their offspring. It was almost dark outside but the children, buoyed up with excitement, seemed in no hurry to find their coats and their parents and go home. There was a great deal of uproar in the corridor and much pushing and shoving. Most of it was good-natured but Howard saw Serena punch a boy on the nose and there was nothing good-natured about that. Howard rushed down the hall to stop any further fighting but the boy backed away from Serena, crying for his mum. “What on earth did you do that for?” Howard asked in amazement. “He pinched me,” Serena replied calmly. “He pinched you?” “Yes. I wouldn’t let him switch my lantern on so he pinched me. Look,” she showed Howard the red patch on her arm. “So I punched him.” She laughed, the argument with the boy forgotten. “Pizza now, Gran’pa? You promised.” “Yes. Of course, love.” Howard felt he should tell Serena off for punching the boy on his nose, but she did have a point, he told himself. The two of them pushed their way through the jostling crowd at the exit. Howard noticed several things on the way and when they were both in the car and had put their seat belts on, he asked, “How did Wendy’s wings get so crumpled, Serena?” “Don’t know, Gran’pa,” she smiled sweetly. “Maybe it happened when she tripped over my feet in the dark?” “And what about Georgina’s missing bootee?” “Don’t know.” Serena gazed seriously ahead through the windscreen. “Maybe she just dropped it somewhere.” Howard grinned and decided not to ask how Harry the monkey had lost his tail. Maybe, he thought, little girls aren’t so different to little boys after all. |
| Firefly By roger.haller@cingular.com (Entry #2) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Captain Rodriquez examined the
corpse lying comfortable in the bunk. The body was completely preserved and it
was easy to see the old man had lived out his life and simply died when it was
time. A half full beer stood unfinished on his night stand and holo’s of
his life history, family and friends looped on his entertainment center.
The ship was still functioning as it should and in surprisingly good condition for a vessel of this age. The original Factory installed O2 generator was still in place. These Fire Flies hadn’t been in operation since back in 100 and had been retired from even the academies by 107 AE. “Cap’n, I have something here you should see.” “What is it Ensign?” “An entry in the commander’s logs sir, I think this is the beginning of the explanation on finding this old bird. He was beginning to write a book.” The Captain took the tablet and scanned to the section highlighted by the Ensign. Commander’s notes, June 14 / 76 AE: Life on the experimental FF class ship is as good as can be when traveling alone. I have all the luxuries of new technology to keep me occupied and entertained through inter stellar travel, but I have also got time on my hands to try to feed my muse. I have long wanted to write novels about my adventures, and now, alone, it seems the prime time to start. Below, please see my first draft of my first chapter of the first novel in a long and productive career as an adventure writer: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The FF series was a sweet ride. In particularly the ff27454. This machine was by far the quickest, most nimble ship I had ever piloted. The two major innovations that made this ship so sweet, was the CANS, (Celestial Avoidance Navigation System), and the ICE (Inertia Compensation Engine). These two systems in union made the Fire Fly class the first choice of the Pony Express. We were the lifeline to the colonies and the control we had combined to the light streaming speed, made us the quickest thing known to mankind. Not just in point to point measurement, but in avoidance and pinpoint navigation measured in feet and inches at 50 times light speed. We were the cutting edge technology of 76 AE. President Sherman had championed our team when it became evident Sol was burning out and home would be no more, a century ago. President Abdullah Jones had solidified our position the year after the nova that cleaned out the Milky Way and everything in it. He had also been the brains behind naming our new found class M’s after the old countries, territories and destinations on Earth as memorials to the home we could never go back to. The combination of the facts above brings me to this trip from my home on Iceland with the inaugural run of the 27454. A load of O2 generators secured in my hold, I was off to Tahiti with supplies to help lift the O2 level and let the homesteaders ease out of the suits for longer periods of time. I sat back from my day dreaming and launched the views screen to see what I looked like to the universe. Several different views were programmed and I chose them one at a time. From the front chase view, I could see the nose of my ship and on zoom I could see my smiling mug shining back at me through the fore glass. Switching to the aft chase, I did indeed look like a fire fly. I noted as my trajectory automatically changed drastically from point to point, oblivious to my bodily fluids which had no idea the inertia that should be killing me was removed from my experience. Bored with this toy I began tracing my course on the navigator to see how long before my next stop. I found I would be in Canada in a couple days and looked forward to the Moose Head Pub and the sweet bartender Monica who took it as a personal challenge to find ways for me to retire my command and settle down to a sedentary existence raising kids and mining diamonds. Who would have thought their abundance in Canada would lead to the safest fuel Man had ever found. No emissions, no heat, no combustion, no intricate multi systemed engine. Monica came back to view in my mind’s eye, and the temptation was real, but I had grinned, not real enough to knock me out of my commander’s chair. Visions of Monica were beginning to get x-rated when low beeps drug me once again back to the console. A warning of an unnatural body brought me to full attention and I sat forward scanning my screens and indicators with a fine toothed comb. The beeping grew in volume and speed, but nothing else showed a thing. With blinding speed, an immense halo of sorts appeared from no where and I was through the gaping mouth before I could react. I hit full stop. Rotating I headed back the way I came to find the halo had become solid. I had a 73 kilometer disc in front of me where a moment ago there was but a ring. I programmed a circumnavigational course to get a look at if from all angles and started moving starboard at investigative speed. Just beyond the edge of the disc, I was placed unceremoniously on the floor while my course was violently adjusted for me to keep me from going around the disc. My Cans and ICE were off by default at this speed. On regaining my seat, I flipped them on and decided to try the port side of the disc. All this time, I had every scan known to a fire fly in progress. I saw no evidence of anything but the disc. This time, I was gently turned by my force field as though I had met a solid object, yet nothing showed. A couple more tries and my conditioning led me to my original course. 206 kilometers later I found I was indeed a firefly in a bottle. I keyed my mike and hailed Iceland. I didn’t even get static. I checked the Computer communications. I was informed by the system, that we were all alone. OK, story over. This isn’t fun any more. Refer to my logs for details of my situation. Dusty Joe, Commander, ff27454 Pony Express unit. “Ensign, bring this log to my quarters when we get back to the ship. Guard it with your life. I have some reading to do.” “Yes Sir” Captain Rodriquez turned and headed for the propulsion room, but turned to catch the Ensign as he bent to pack the log into his case. “Ensign, I want every man jack back on the Goose before a half hour is up. Get Pilovitch to Com me. He is probably old enough to figure out these controls and park this craft in the flight deck.” “Yes Sir.” “If you talk to him before I do, tell him to keep an eye out for mason jars” |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #6 Second place: #3 Others receiving votes: #2, #5, #8 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Firefly star_maiden91@yahoo.com |
#1 of 8 |
| 105 | |
| Forget the trouble, Pain and sorrow Let all your worries filter out, Let the stars above us And down below Show us that the night is full of light, Forget the traffic, Buildings and cars Let freedom condemn you Body and soul Let the stars of the rivers Fill you with hope, Forget the thought of losing Let the light touch your skin Feel complete Not empty, Feel the warmth of the heavens Angels, Forget the meaning of words to big Let everything go And take the nights settle breeze Across your body Let the light from the stars above us And down below Make you feel free From all the work, and useless stuff that you know. |
|
| Firefly roger.haller@cingular.com |
#2 of 8 Runner-up |
| 1203 | |
| Captain Rodriquez examined the corpse lying comfortable
in the bunk. The body was completely preserved and it was easy to see the old
man had lived out his life and simply died when it was time. A half full beer
stood unfinished on his night stand and holo’s of his life history, family
and friends looped on his entertainment center. The ship was still functioning as it should and in surprisingly good condition for a vessel of this age. The original Factory installed O2 generator was still in place. These Fire Flies hadn’t been in operation since back in 100 and had been retired from even the academies by 107 AE. “Cap’n, I have something here you should see.” “What is it Ensign?” “An entry in the commander’s logs sir, I think this is the beginning of the explanation on finding this old bird. He was beginning to write a book.” The Captain took the tablet and scanned to the section highlighted by the Ensign. Commander’s notes, June 14 / 76 AE: Life on the experimental FF class ship is as good as can be when traveling alone. I have all the luxuries of new technology to keep me occupied and entertained through inter stellar travel, but I have also got time on my hands to try to feed my muse. I have long wanted to write novels about my adventures, and now, alone, it seems the prime time to start. Below, please see my first draft of my first chapter of the first novel in a long and productive career as an adventure writer: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The FF series was a sweet ride. In particularly the ff27454. This machine was by far the quickest, most nimble ship I had ever piloted. The two major innovations that made this ship so sweet, was the CANS, (Celestial Avoidance Navigation System), and the ICE (Inertia Compensation Engine). These two systems in union made the Fire Fly class the first choice of the Pony Express. We were the lifeline to the colonies and the control we had combined to the light streaming speed, made us the quickest thing known to mankind. Not just in point to point measurement, but in avoidance and pinpoint navigation measured in feet and inches at 50 times light speed. We were the cutting edge technology of 76 AE. President Sherman had championed our team when it became evident Sol was burning out and home would be no more, a century ago. President Abdullah Jones had solidified our position the year after the nova that cleaned out the Milky Way and everything in it. He had also been the brains behind naming our new found class M’s after the old countries, territories and destinations on Earth as memorials to the home we could never go back to. The combination of the facts above brings me to this trip from my home on Iceland with the inaugural run of the 27454. A load of O2 generators secured in my hold, I was off to Tahiti with supplies to help lift the O2 level and let the homesteaders ease out of the suits for longer periods of time. I sat back from my day dreaming and launched the views screen to see what I looked like to the universe. Several different views were programmed and I chose them one at a time. From the front chase view, I could see the nose of my ship and on zoom I could see my smiling mug shining back at me through the fore glass. Switching to the aft chase, I did indeed look like a fire fly. I noted as my trajectory automatically changed drastically from point to point, oblivious to my bodily fluids which had no idea the inertia that should be killing me was removed from my experience. Bored with this toy I began tracing my course on the navigator to see how long before my next stop. I found I would be in Canada in a couple days and looked forward to the Moose Head Pub and the sweet bartender Monica who took it as a personal challenge to find ways for me to retire my command and settle down to a sedentary existence raising kids and mining diamonds. Who would have thought their abundance in Canada would lead to the safest fuel Man had ever found. No emissions, no heat, no combustion, no intricate multi systemed engine. Monica came back to view in my mind’s eye, and the temptation was real, but I had grinned, not real enough to knock me out of my commander’s chair. Visions of Monica were beginning to get x-rated when low beeps drug me once again back to the console. A warning of an unnatural body brought me to full attention and I sat forward scanning my screens and indicators with a fine toothed comb. The beeping grew in volume and speed, but nothing else showed a thing. With blinding speed, an immense halo of sorts appeared from no where and I was through the gaping mouth before I could react. I hit full stop. Rotating I headed back the way I came to find the halo had become solid. I had a 73 kilometer disc in front of me where a moment ago there was but a ring. I programmed a circumnavigational course to get a look at if from all angles and started moving starboard at investigative speed. Just beyond the edge of the disc, I was placed unceremoniously on the floor while my course was violently adjusted for me to keep me from going around the disc. My Cans and ICE were off by default at this speed. On regaining my seat, I flipped them on and decided to try the port side of the disc. All this time, I had every scan known to a fire fly in progress. I saw no evidence of anything but the disc. This time, I was gently turned by my force field as though I had met a solid object, yet nothing showed. A couple more tries and my conditioning led me to my original course. 206 kilometers later I found I was indeed a firefly in a bottle. I keyed my mike and hailed Iceland. I didn’t even get static. I checked the Computer communications. I was informed by the system, that we were all alone. OK, story over. This isn’t fun any more. Refer to my logs for details of my situation. Dusty Joe, Commander, ff27454 Pony Express unit. “Ensign, bring this log to my quarters when we get back to the ship. Guard it with your life. I have some reading to do.” “Yes Sir” Captain Rodriquez turned and headed for the propulsion room, but turned to catch the Ensign as he bent to pack the log into his case. “Ensign, I want every man jack back on the Goose before a half hour is up. Get Pilovitch to Com me. He is probably old enough to figure out these controls and park this craft in the flight deck.” “Yes Sir.” “If you talk to him before I do, tell him to keep an eye out for mason jars” |
|
| Firefly Yvonne Walker misstresskitti69@yahoo.com |
#3 of 8 |
| 691 | |
| The fireflies around my house always seemed to be
magical. Mama always said when we died we turned into fireflies and would fly
away to heaven or stay on earth and help those we love. Since my mama died I
loved to think she is one of these fireflies I sit here and watch. Whack!
“Didn’t you here me talking to you girl. I told you to come watch
those damn dishes an hour ago. Get it done.” “Yes papa,” I said as I grab my face and watched him storm back to the house. The pain coursed through my face and the tears ran down my cheek as I put my hand to the place he smacked me. The fireflies return as if to comfort me and I got up and walked to the house. My mind drifts again back to mama and I see us at the stream again washing the blood from her face and her telling me about the fireflies. She never got that blood out of her white dress that night. My thoughts are interrupted as papa enters the room cursing and throwing dishes about. I turn my head back to my dishes and I can hear my mother crying and I see her through the crack in the door on her knees. My papa standing over her with the gun in his hand and her beautiful face bloody and broken. “No baby I won’t do it again. I swear it. I didn’t want to do it.” “Oh really, because if you want I will help you with it,” he says as he puts the gun to her head and cocks it. I creak open the door and my mama sees me. “No not in front of her. Bebe get out. Go run!” my mama screams to me but I can’t move. Smack. “Did you hear me at all? Get this done and I want this house clean before I get home,” papa said after his hand connected with my face again. I grab my face and the tears well up again. “Yes papa,” I say and start back to my dishes as he stormed out of the house. I hear mama again. “Now bebe if he ever hits you again you use this and aim between his eyes and pull this trigger and you will be free just like a firefly and you will be with me again.” “What do you mean mama? Where are you going?” “Just remember I love you,” was the last thing she told me as she handed me the gun. The next vision was of her in the tub of red water and she was so cold. I guess she had found her way to become a firefly. “Mama I wanna be with you now!” I shouted as the tears flowed down my face and I saw the firefly come in and I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. I turned around and it was her when she was most beautiful in her white dress. “You know what to do bebe,” she said as she handed me the gun. I hugged her as I heard the door open and slam shut. “I forgot my wallet. What the hell are you doing just standing there?!” he said as he stood in front of me. “Well.” I could tell he had already been drinking. I could smell it on him as he came closer to me. I pulled the gun up and aimed. “What the hell are you going to do with that thing? Huh. You gonna shoo….” Pop! I watched as he stood there before the red hole in the middle of his head formed and the blood flowed. He dropped to his knees and fell on his face. The firefly returned and I dropped the gun and followed it outside to the stream me and mama always went to. I sat there and washed my hands and watched the fireflies fly around me and I was finally free. |
|
| Firefly P.S.Gifford psgifford@earthlink.net |
#4 of 8 |
| 582 | |
| “All the magic in the universe is contained in one
single firefly” That is what my grandmother often told me back when I was a young girl growing up in Kentucky in the early 1950’s. I used to go spend three idyllic weeks with her every summer during my school vacation, and whereas most young girls would frown at spending time with their grandmothers, I enjoyed every single moment and to this day treasure the memories. The highlight of the trip was invariably our annual getaway. She used to rent a cabin, always precisely the same one, for a week in the nearby glorious lush forest surrounding mammoth caves. By day we would venture down into the magnificence that is the world’s largest cave, or perhaps go for long lazy strolls through the woods, this was long before it had become a commercialized state park, and quite remarkable considering that my grandmother was already in her late fifties. By evening we would light a campfire outside of the cabin which was at the side of a small yet extraordinary lake. She would share with me wondrous accounts of her childhood, and shake her head in despair when she considered just how fast the world was changing. I shall never forget the last time I had gone to visit with her, it was in 1955, I was seventeen by now and I sensed that something was wrong. One evening as we sat contently watching the animal nightlife upon the lake she shared with me her horrific news t; she was riddled with cancer and as I sat there silently listening to her I somehow knew that this was going to be our last time together. Those were sacred moments; a magical time for a grandmother’s wisdom to weave its place within my young curiosity. The countryside was crammed with a varied selection of wildlife, deer, wild hog, elk’s bobcats and even wild turkeys. However of f all the creatures that captivated our imagination, the most enchanting to us were the modest yet mysterious fireflies. We could spend seemingly hours gazing at them as they appeared to dance and play. I asked my grandmother what made them so magical and she told me that “all the magic in the universe is contained in one single firefly” I remember laughing and not truly appreciating what she fully meant. Yet, that memory became embedded deep in my mind, and whenever I saw a firefly I never failed to recall the kind face of my grandmother. I shall never forget that fateful day when an early morning phone call abruptly awoken our household. I remember my mother standing at the phone and weeping, and I remember my father trying the best he could to console her. They never told me what had happened during the night, yet deep in my heart I somehow suspected it. My grandmother had passed on. Despite the sadness of the occasion the early morning of the funeral was a bright day, the sort of day my grandmother would have relished in. As I watched stone faced they solemnly lowered the casket into the ground and I suddenly caught sight of a firefly. I watched as it mysteriously landed on the actual coffin, and then suddenly darted of with an unexplained purpose. As always I recalled my grandmother’s sage words of wisdom, and I knew that she would be with me forever, watching over and protecting me. “All the magic in the universe is contained in one single firefly” |
|
| Firefly Colleen M. Criswell colleencriswell@gmail.com |
#5 of 8 |
| 540 | |
| Several species of firefly are cannibalistic
predators. Females imitate the mating signals of other firefly species to
devour the males they attract. She placed her mask on, as most females do, the lipstick and rouge and powder. She actually laughed at herself when putting on her mascara, 'The faces we make when putting this stuff on,' she thought to herself, 'For some reason, opening our mouths and making our face stretch, helps She shimmied into her little cotton top and made sure her push-up bra was showing ample cleavage. Her skirt, she noted, was just as Lonnie Dusche had said back in high school when running for class president : "A speech should be like a woman's skirt. Long enough to cover the main topic, but still short enough to be interesting." Miranda, was set to go out on the prowl, yet again. She made sure she didn't look too cheap, but cheap enough for most pocket books for those that were buying. It was the thrill of actually being wanted. At one time she was cute, almost innocent looking, but as time wore on and the more jaded she became, the more lines creased her face and her smile no longer reached her eyes. Thank goodness for all those acting classes she took in high school and the few years of college she had, she was able to still bring in a few hundred a night by knowing what part people wanted to see. She was a pro. She stepped out into the July heat. Even though the sun had set, the furnace-like blast hit her in the face. She quickly took the compact out of the beaded little purse she had hanging from her shoulder. Making sure the make-up she wore had not melted off as of yet, she continued, her spiked heels clicking on the sidewalk as she moved to her spot. She flashed her best smile when the first customer of the night pulled up. ******** Thirty minutes later and fifty dollars richer, Miranda stepped from the alley back onto the curb. Straightening her skirt and fixing her hair in the reflection of the large store window, she got a glimpse of the lights. 'Shit,' she muttered to herself as the undercover cop car pulled up beside her. A plain clothed got out of the car and walked over to her, "You are under arrest for solicitation," he announced, slapping the cuffs on her and shoving her into the back seat of the car. "Bullshit," Miranda screamed at him, "you have no proof of that! I was simply standing here! I know my rights!" "Good," the officer smiled, as he got into the car. ********* "Victim is female, Caucasian," the young woman in the lab coat said into her tape recorder, "age between 25 and 30." The chief of police stood to the side of the room, talking in low voices with the officer who had found the body at the scene, "Her body was carved open, looked like a lot was removed," the rookie mentioned. "Did you see anything else?" the police chief inquired. The cop nodded, "He left his calling card." "A fork and knife?" "Yes, sir. Do you really think he is eating them?" "We won't know until we catch him." |
|
| Firefly lee10@host365.com |
#6 of 8 Winner |
| 1639 | |
| There were a few times when Howard wished he
wasn’t a Granddad. This was one of them. Howard and his wife Mary had only had boys; three of them. So little girls were still a mystery to him. If Mary hadn’t died last year, Howard would have walked away, leaving this noisy bundle of girlhood for her to deal with. As it was, he was on his own. He had no option but to cope, though goodness alone knew how. “Serena,” he murmured to his granddaughter. “It’s not that bad, surely?” His hands fluttered ineffectually in the air over her head. Serena, wriggling on the carpet and kicking at a table leg, squealed even louder. “It is! It is! It is, Gran’pa!” Her cries increased in intensity. Howard knelt by her side “Come on. Let me give you a hug. Let me make it better.” Serena unravelled, rolled over and threw herself into his arms, smearing tears and snot onto his pullover. “Oh, Gran’pa,” she sobbed. “They all hate me. They do! They do!” Howard sat on the floor with this alien but much loved creature in his lap. “Sh-sh,” he crooned as she snuggled closer. “There, there. It’ll be all right. I promise.” He’d have called for help but his son Rodney, Serena’s Daddy, was working overseas and his daughter-in-law, Jess, was a nurse at the local Infirmary. She was doing double shifts because of the ‘flu epidemic and couldn’t get away. So Howard had to calm this stubborn little lady down, then coax her into her costume and onto the stage for her school’s end of term concert. Bribery, he thought, might do the trick. It had always worked with the boys. “How about,” he suggested, “we have a McDonald’s after the concert?” “Pizza?” “O.K. Pizza it is. But we’d best get moving.” “Don’t wanna!” “No concert, no pizza,” he whispered in her ear. Grumbling, her tear-streaked face red-mottled and splotchy, Serena rolled from her Granddad’s lap. “Oh, all right,” she grizzled. Howard struggled to his feet and held out his hand, “Come on then, up the apples and pears. We’ll have that face washed for a start.” Reluctantly, Serena took his hand and let him lead her upstairs to the bathroom where Howard found a pink flannel and wiped away as many of the traces of the tantrum as possible. He brushed her hair. “Ouch, Gran’pa.” “Sorry, sweetie.” With more care, he tied her dark hair back into a ponytail. “Now for your costume, love,” he said. “Do I have to Gran’pa?” “Pizza!” he replied. * As Howard drove to the school, he listened again to his granddaughter’s complaints. “She doesn’t like me,” Serena stated. “Who doesn’t like you?” Howard negotiated some appalling parking in the High Street. “Mrs.Bee, of course. She likes Angela and Georgina and Wendy. But she doesn’t like me.” “Why ever not, pet?” Rodney papped his horn at his friend Henry, who was holding them up while he meandered over the zebra crossing. “’Cos!” “Because why?” “Just ‘cos.” “Explain.” “Well.” Serena took a deep breath. “We’ve got this concert, right? And Wendy’s a beautiful butterfly. She’s got a pretty blue costume with sequins and silvery wings, ‘n Angela’s a green dragonfly ‘n she’s got a greeny-purple costume and fairy boots ‘n Georgina’s a yellow moth.” She paused for breath. “And she’s got gold bootees.” She pointed at her black, leotard-clad legs and her black trainers. “And all I’ve got is this horrid, black costume.” “Ah, but you’re a firefly and you’ve got a lamp,” Howard reminded her, “and nobody else has a lamp, have they?” He accelerated away from a green traffic light. Serena thought about this. “No,” she admitted. “I’m the only one with a lamp.” “So?” her Granddad asked. “Doesn’t that mean that maybe Mrs.Bee likes you, or she wouldn’t trust you with the one and only lamp?” Serena was quiet for a long time while her six year-old mind struggled to come to terms with this new concept. “Do you think, Gran’pa", she turned to him, “that Mrs.Bee likes me more than she likes Georgina ‘n Wendy ‘n Angela?” “I do, sweetheart,” he said earnestly. “I really, really do.” He slowed the car outside the school, spotted a space amongst the other parents’ cars and squeezed his old Ford into the gap. “Come on, love. Let’s go and wow your audience.” * Mrs.Bee, the school’s music teacher had done an excellent job. All the pupils took an active part in the concert; a group of seven year olds played their recorders almost in tune and almost in time; Harry, the boy who lived next door to Serena, did tiss-overs wearing a velvety monkey suit and didn’t once tread on his tail, and a very poised eight year-old, with a bare midriff and a skirt shorter than her Dadddy should have allowed, sang one of the latest pop songs. And Howard could see why Serena was so jealous of Wendy, Georgina and Angela. They simpered with small girl smugness as they flitted about the stage in a woodland dance. They were rather heavy-footed but their costumes were very pretty and glittered under the artificial stage lighting. Then the lights dimmed and it was Serena’s turn. Mrs.Bee had told her she mustn’t smile or wave at her Grandfather, so she did neither. She stared straight ahead as she walked onto the stage, a lonely, small, dark shadow preceding her. A battery-powered lantern on a pole rested on her shoulder and cast an ethereal white glow across her features. Then the lights went out altogether. The audience gasped and several small children burst into tears. Howard heard a bustle from the back of the room and assumed that someone had rushed out to flip the trip switch back on. Despite the dark, Mrs.Bee began to play the piano accompaniment and on cue, Serena sang her song. All the mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles focused on her face, that one bright spot in the room. It was only a simple song, written by Mrs.Bee herself, about a firefly who could only go out at night and couldn’t play with the other woodland folk. It was obvious why Serena had one of the solo spots. Her voice was pure and true and she caught the melody’s haunting message. As she finished singing, Serena switched off the lantern, leaving the hall in pitch-blackness, but as the applause rose, the overhead lights came back on. Serena smiled now. Howard heard the lady on his right sigh, “Oh, the little darling”, and he felt proud as he wiped tears from his eyes. * Howard waited at the school entrance with all the other relatives for their offspring. It was almost dark outside but the children, buoyed up with excitement, seemed in no hurry to find their coats and their parents and go home. There was a great deal of uproar in the corridor and much pushing and shoving. Most of it was good-natured but Howard saw Serena punch a boy on the nose and there was nothing good-natured about that. Howard rushed down the hall to stop any further fighting but the boy backed away from Serena, crying for his mum. “What on earth did you do that for?” Howard asked in amazement. “He pinched me,” Serena replied calmly. “He pinched you?” “Yes. I wouldn’t let him switch my lantern on so he pinched me. Look,” she showed Howard the red patch on her arm. “So I punched him.” She laughed, the argument with the boy forgotten. “Pizza now, Gran’pa? You promised.” “Yes. Of course, love.” Howard felt he should tell Serena off for punching the boy on his nose, but she did have a point, he told himself. The two of them pushed their way through the jostling crowd at the exit. Howard noticed several things on the way and when they were both in the car and had put their seat belts on, he asked, “How did Wendy’s wings get so crumpled, Serena?” “Don’t know, Gran’pa,” she smiled sweetly. “Maybe it happened when she tripped over my feet in the dark?” “And what about Georgina’s missing bootee?” “Don’t know.” Serena gazed seriously ahead through the windscreen. “Maybe she just dropped it somewhere.” Howard grinned and decided not to ask how Harry the monkey had lost his tail. Maybe, he thought, little girls aren’t so different to little boys after all. |
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| Firefly KatrinkaJane katrinkajane@gmail.com http://www.katrinkajane.com |
#7 of 8 |
| 69 | |
| Dancing in the dark Floating above the field Twinkling brightly against the night Catching my eye Shall I cup you in my hand? Shall I catch you in a jar? Come closer now, shining tidbit Silent light fluttering on the breeze Tumbling nearer, across the grass Fleeting is your fiery impression Now I can see you better and Now I feel foolish You're nothing but a burning ember Blown over from the flaming wreckage behind me |
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| Firefly Lisa McDowell Mc6Li@aol.com |
#8 of 8 |
| 1623 | |
| Long rivulets of sweat drip ceaselessly over the
contours of my body, invading every fold that runs along the expanse of my
skin. The intense heat that brings about this perpetual saturation smothers and
presses upon my every nerve. Scarce a breath can I take, and so I sit, entombed
within the torrid embrace. Thus it is so that I find myself, and remember
nothing previous. My only knowledge is that of the restless ravings of my own
thoughts. Constant barrages of whispering madness blinking like a beacon in my
brain. No, not the blinking of a beacon, but a firefly, a firefly that flits at
the edge of remembrance. With each passing moment, the inaudible torrent of
whispering grows louder until a final shattering statement unfolds and echoes
solidly within my head. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…the firefly is the only thing that matters…" It is not my own voice that murmurs this incongruous statement, but that of a deep, caustic voice that grates against my countenance. As this voice overtakes my thoughts and reverberates within my head, all other sounds slip beyond my comprehension. Nothing but that of the harassing bombardment of my own mind can be heard. And even as I struggle with this resonation within my brain, strange and incomprehensible images begin to penetrate my vision and flicker and flash in rhythm with the unfamiliar voice within. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…" Dense marshlands…A shroud of impenetrable mist. "…The firefly is the only thing that matters…" Dry pallid lips…A complacent sneer. "…The Firefly Is The Only Thing That Matters…" A warm, viscid pool beneath my feet... Flashes of red. "…THE FIREFLY Is The Only Thing That Matters…" A firefly blinking…blinking...an encompassing darkness… "…THE FIREFLY IS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS…" I cannot seem to place these curious visions, yet an awareness of familiarity springs forth from the concealed reaches of my mind. In fact, I find myself welcoming the torrent of perplexing madness for these haunting impressions impart to me somewhat of a memory. Yes, even though these bizarre fragmented memories plague my very being, I still prescribe myself to the designation of the uneasiness and torment and willingly bathe within it's anguished embrace. So it is that I sit encompassed within my own tormented mind, oblivious to all that surrounds me. While gradually, from the depths of my obscured reality, another voice filters through the madness and enters into my consciousness. It is a voice outside my head, a clear and audible voice that distinctly rings with an ardent sharpness. "My darling? My darling?" Reluctantly, my sensibilities return and the turmoil within abates. Silhouettes that were previously ill defined, clarify and compel definitive details to break through the eclipsing haze of my mind. It is in this manner to which my reverie is overcome with reality and instantly shatters, whereupon I find myself perched before a dirt encrusted window. A thick layer of grime taints the glass and obscures the scene beyond. Yet, in spite of the indistinct view, I can still discern the onerous sight that lies outside. Enfolded within a thick shroud of mist is a remote marshland dense with cattails and reeds. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…" From the depths of the impenetrable mist, faint delicate lights blink in resonance like that of my tormented thoughts. Absently, my hand reaches forward to gently rest upon the impervious glass. Although it is cool to the touch, I get no relief from either the irrepressible heat or my constant distress. Then, once again, a distinct sharp voice enters my consciousness. "My darling." The voice is deep and coarse. I tear my gaze from the window where a man, lofty in stature and contemptuous in demeanor peers down intently at me. His gaze locks with mine as his dark eyes bear into me. Expectation is plainly visible upon the stranger's face. Earnestly I examine the unfamiliar visitor, trying to recognize something… anything, but unfortunately this person is as strange to me as the visions within my head. "Hello my darling, how are you feeling?" "Am I supposed to know you?" I reply with a strained rasp. All at once my throat constricts painfully with the harsh fury of dehydration. I swallow hard, trying in vain to relive the desiccant pain. Nevertheless, my throat still burns with irritation and any sound that I try to issue is henceforth a burden. "I am your husband, my darling. You still do not remember?" He licked his lips…dry pallid lips. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…." My husband? No, I have no recollection of a husband. I search my fingers for a ring, but to no avail, my fingers are absent from all decoration. Instead only scarred, pale flesh clings to bone and muscle, but no ring sits upon any finger. "I cannot be married, I have no ring." "The doctors will not allow you to wear jewelry here at the asylum my darling." A smile strains from thin lips. "Therefore I keep your ring with me. I assure you we are married." "Asylum?" Dismay fully penetrates my being. Why? How? Even now I still cannot remember. "Yes my darling, you are ill and in need of constant care. Weekly I visit, to see if there is a change in your condition. And as always, there is no change, so it is here you must stay." My skin prickles with apprehension and a gripping chill spreads throughout my body. Am I truly in an asylum? Searching for confirmation of the truth in what my husband says, I sweep my eyes across the room. As I assimilate all that lies before me, I see for the first time, a scene as equally disturbing as the flashes within my head. Yes, it now makes sense, the bizarre surroundings, my lapse of memory and the disturbing visions that torment my soul. Truly I am ill. Unconsciously, my hand migrates toward my hair; I finger a strand and twist the sleek tresses within my fingertips. "I do not remember anything, not even you." My husband nods assuredly, then smiles and seats himself next to me. "How long have I been here?" "Several years my darling, several years. But lets not talk about such unpleasantness, for I have brought you a gift today." For the first time, my distress eases. "A gift for me? Truly?" "Indeed." My husband reaches toward me and discreetly places within my hand a seemingly empty, glass jar. But it is not empty, for inside wandering aimless and lonely is a firefly. Consternation overwhelms my being and paralyzes my logic. I am unable to put into words my utter confusion at his personal knowledge of my inner torment. I gape steadily upon his face, his austere expression falters not; however his dry pallid lips curl into a sneer…a complacent sneer. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…" Calmly my husband inches closer until his lips purposefully brush faintly against my ear. A coarse voice emerges as he breathes out a single statement. A statement I know all too well. "The firefly is the only thing that matters." My husband's utterance pounds relentlessly through my head as recognition suddenly burns through to my awareness. Memories…tortured memories sink into my mind and wash over me like a flood. All my tormented thoughts blend together to form a terrifying memory, long buried. I remember, at last I remember. But, I do not wish to. Carelessly the jar slips from my frail fingers to land mercilessly upon the floor. Glass shatters, scattering a multitude of luminous shards, which sparkle and glisten fiercely in the light. From deep within the bowels of my being, a deafening, bone-chilling scream erupts and rips through the room. Immersed in a ghastly anguish I tumble ruthlessly to the floor. Glass slices through thin flesh, spilling a warm viscid pool of blood beneath me. "…the firefly is the only thing that matters…" Intense physical pain and mental agony bite through both my flesh and mind. No one should ever know. I should not know. Therefore I willingly give myself over to the shadowed void within my head, for I do not wish to remember, I will not remember. Emerging through to my sight is the lonely firefly, flitting heedless into my vision. The firefly's light steadily blinks…blinks…blinks…until darkness encompasses my being and penetrates my soul. No one should ever know. No one will ever know. Because after all…the firefly is the only thing that matters… |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club