Sunday, January 27, 2013

Day 27 of the 250 Word Prompt

"Believing the floating lights in his backyard to be fireflies, a young boy accidentally traps a fairy in a Mason jar."

Simon pressed his five-year-old hands against the glass door, and peered in wonderment at the light show that was occurring in his backyard.  Every night he would stand here at the glass door, wishing he could go out and dance with the fireflies as they moved gracefully around his play set and over his sandbox.  But Momma said, “No, it’s late, and you need to get ready for bed.”  Although how the woman, who was busy drying her hands on the kitchen towel and replacing the dishes into the cupboard, ever thought the young boy would be able to sleep was a mystery to little Simon.

Tonight was different.  Tonight, Momma was in the basement doing laundry, and Daddy was – well, Simon did not really know, but Daddy was NOT in the kitchen.  Simon looked at the plastic container in his hand, the one that came with his “bug box” from Grandpa, and decided that he would get a firefly all his own, and keep him forever in his bedroom.  And he would name him George, after his Grandpa.

Quietly, which is a relative term when you talking about the stealth of a five-year-old, Simon made his way into the backyard; one of the few times he had ventured out without being under the watchful eyes of his mother.  He went to the ladder that stood next to the crow’s nest of the play set, and waited for a firefly to come close.  It took forever, according to Simon, but was really only about four minutes, when suddenly a greenish light appeared next to him.  Simon stood still, a little apprehensive of the bug, and waited as it hovered above the open jar, and ventured inside.

Simon grinned, as he placed the lid quickly on the jar, and turned to run back into the house, up to his room, and pretended to “get ready for bed.”  Once there, he made his first investigation into the jar.  Eyes as huge as saucers, he rubbed them in an effort to clear his focus.  

There, in the jar, was the tiniest body the boy had ever seen that had not been painted in a picture, or in one of the cartoons he watched on TV.  Mesmerized by the fluttering wings, and the sweet face, Simon was unaware of the pleading voice, only heard by children, calling to him.

“Please, let me out,” the imprisoned light begged.

“What are you?” Simon finally asked, as the melodious tones found him, and brought him out of his reverie.

“Why, a fairy, of course.”

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