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About This Author
 Kiya is a young woman with many interests. She's got a degree in Computer Science and Registered Nursing.
She's an avid reader and considers Stephen King one of her favorite authors.
She's also been known to pen one or two stories here and there, and as a proud moderator of Writing.Com, she invites you to check out her portfolio (and even better, to sign up today!).
Published Works:
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Night of the Fireflies
Andrea squealed in delight as the fireflies flew right into her trap.
Nearly diving head first into the grass, she grabbed the clear jar and snapped the lid shut, effectively capturing the skittish bugs now spinning in dizzying circles within their new home.
“So pretty,” she cooed in awe.
Her large hazel eyes, shielded behind thick glasses, flickered with the yellow glow from their bellies; something she had learned from her favourite nature show on television. She barely heard her father give instructions on when to release them, only nodding absently as she slunk into her tent and closed the flaps to have some privacy.
Tucking herself into the sleeping bag and lying on her tummy, she turned off the electric lamp and allowed the natural glow from her new friends to illuminate the darkness. How she wished she could take them home, but because of father’s insistence to let Nature be, she’d promised to release them first thing in the morning.
From her count, she had caught about five of them, and as they continued their dance – well, one of them appeared to be getting tired and just seemed content to remain at the bottom of the jar – Andrea could feel her lashes getting heavier. It had been a long and exciting day at their camp today, and though she would have loved to study her precious fireflies, the thick blanket of weariness covered her comp-
Please let us go.
Hmm? Andrea’s lashes drifted upwards slowly. Had she been dreaming or was that voice just within her head?
It was much quieter outside her tent, so she figured everyone else had gone to sleep already.
Probably imagined it, she thought and prepared to return to sleep, when it was heard again.
Please let us go.
It was a caress of a plea yet louder; one that was mingled with an echo of the same phrase that chimed in unison.
Andrea sat up; her glasses – which she had forgotten to take off earlier – nearly slipping off her nose. She adjusted them and squinted into the darkness. Was there someone outside her tent? She could see no strange shadows, so where were those voices coming from?
In the jar. We are in the jar, came the response, which had her snapping her head quickly to the glass container. Puzzled, yet intrigued, Andrea peered close until the tip of her nose kissed the glass, and what she saw caused a shocked gasp to escape her lips.
Instead of seeing the familiar brown bugs, she was staring at miniature versions of Wendy from Peter Pan. There really was no other way to describe them. These fairies – for what else could they be – had human-like faces with pointed ears. Their features seemed to glow along with the gossamer wings on their naked backs. They had no clothes, which was fine as their bodies had no distinction between the male or female genders. They looked far too delicate, as if the very idea of touching them would cause them to disappear into thin air.
Andrea couldn’t risk that.
“What are you?” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder, she would wake her parents. She definitely didn’t need them worried about her, especially if they felt she was talking to herself and this was all just a dream.
The biggest fairy of them all, who was actually no larger than Andrea’s thumb, spun around in a dizzying circle before coming to a stop at the top of the jar. It seemed to pout before motioning for Andrea to release the clasp.
“Set us free, and we’ll tell you,” the fairy promised. Her wings flapped faster, sending a thin trail of sparkles that could only be considered as fairy dust.
“And how do I know you won’t cast some wicked magic spell on me?” Andrea had read enough stories to know how bad things could get in these kinds of situations.
This question seemed to amuse a couple of the fairies for they gave mischievous titters; their laughter akin to the tinkling of tiny wind chimes.
“I am Amaltheia Figsparkle, and we – my siblings and I – come from the Land beyond the Rainbow Hills. We cannot cast spells; those are only for the Dark Faery clan. We are from the Light Faery clan and will cause you no harm.”
“But…how did you turn into fireflies? Have you always been fairies?”
Amaltheia nodded and spun in a delicate figure eight, which impressed Andrea. “Only those who wish to see who we truly are will see our real form. To others, we will simply remain as fireflies. Now, you must let us go. As you can see, our brother Florian has taken ill, and we must return to our land quickly.”
Andrea peered closer still and sure enough, that one firefly she had thought ‘tired’, was actually curled up in a tight ball now. While the other fairies were luminescent with life, poor Florian looked dull; a greyish hue upon his skin.
Now worried, and not wanting to be responsible for killing any magical creature, Andrea quickly unlatched the jar and watched, with mouth agape, as the fairies flew out in a rush of excitement surrounded by clouds of fairy dust. Andrea was sure they smelled sweet; like the delicious scent of her favourite sugar cookies Mom baked.
Thank you, dear Andrea, came the greeting in unison as the fairies slipped through the flaps of her tent to fade slowly into the night sky. Perhaps we’ll meet again.
“We sure will,” Andrea promised with an enthusiastic wave until there was nothing left but the lingering aroma of sugar in the air.
Boy, was her summer essay going to be so much fun to write.
WC: 958
Prompt: What if lightning bugs are actually fairies?!
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