She ran barefoot in the grass, hair streaming behind her in strands of moonlit ribbons.
Her mother called her inside but she wouldn’t go.
She was searching for fireflies.
Last year, right before her father died, he pulled her aside and asked her to listen to the crickets. Summer’s song, he called them.
They had iced tea that night in late July, the ice melting, glass beading up with droplets of water in the humid heat.
The sun cast desperate rays through tree branches, glowing orange fingers reaching out for someone to hold them. But she didn’t. And they nestled in the bushes waiting for morning.
Fireflies danced around their heads, lighting up the porch, and her father beamed with them. Nature’s nightlights, he said.
They sipped sweet tea to a chorus of insects.
She traced a line down the side of her glass, peeking through her hair at her father. Will you be here to listen to the chirping and watch the blinking bugs tomorrow? she wondered.
Her father was dying.
She was old enough to know he would be leaving soon and young enough to ask him not to go.
He had laughed. She remembered that vividly because it startled her and the sweaty, cold glass slipped from her hand.
And it felt so good to cry. For the lost sweet tea that pooled near her toes and for her father who was being forced from the world he loved with a smile on his face.
#Blogbattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey – Join the fun every Tuesday
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Week 67 Prompt: Tea
Genre: Drama
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LOVE LOVE LOVE!
You are SUCH AN AMAZING WRITER! Please write a book!
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Aw… Thanks, Lucy. 💖 I’m working on it.
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Omg Sarah. This is so amazing and so very beautiful and I don’t know what else to say. It’s full of emotion for me…You’ve done such an amazing job here, Dear Lady. 💕
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Thanks. 💕💕💕 #mast
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Beautiful!
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Thank you! ❤
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Wow! Sarah. I read the 99-word version at the Carrot Ranch and was blown away. This lengthier version adds so much to the story. I love the descriptive “ice melting and glass beading up”; and the poetry in this paragraph “The sun cast desperate rays through tree branches, glowing orange fingers reaching out for someone to hold them. But she didn’t. And they nestled in the bushes waiting for morning.”
Oh go on, I can’t possibly quote it all! I love that she looked for the fireflies and that her father called them “Nature’s nightlights”. And I am so sorry that he is being forced from the world that he loves. It such a sad story, but told with beautiful imagery and much emotion. Well done.
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Wow, you. Thank you so much for this, Norah. You’re too kind. It was a story I fell in love with and happened to fit both prompts so I expanded/tweaked it a bit. But I’m finding I do love these characters so perhaps I’ll work on it some more. Or add it to my collection of short (short) stories. Thanks. ❤
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I like these characters too. I love the relationship between the girl-woman and her father. It’s one every girl should have. Please do work on them. 🙂
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Aww, you broke my heart. I love how you describe the scene, Sarah. So beautiful and perfect. ❤
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Didn’t mean to break your heart… Glad It made you feel, though. That’s always a plus. ❤️ Thank you, Rachael.
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♡♡♡♡♡
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This is lovely. I love the fireflies–they add to the ephemeral quality of the emotion. 🙂
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They do… Flickering like life. 💖 Thank you.
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Thanks, all. ❤
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