It
was pitch black in my room, and quiet too. The only tone echoed through the
surrounding was the sound of crickets chirping lullaby under the bushes outside
the house; rubbing the edge of their wings onto each other, much like a fiddler
with their strings and bow.
I
was half asleep when I spotted flashing glimpse of light at the ceiling.
Feeling disturbed, I opened up my semi-closed eyes. It was a firefly, flashing
on and off like the neon light of the night club at the city, a beautiful view.
Even in the city, it’s so rare to find these insect. City folks have to drive
miles and miles to a specific place that has the word ‘fireflies’ carved on its
name. I was lucky; this lightning bug willingly came straight into my property.
That
night, in my bed, I fancied its glowing exhibition. If the ceiling is the sky, then
this firefly is the star. If the ceiling is a stage, then this firefly is a
rockstar. I was like its dying fan; a complete nobody who stands anywhere below
the stage among its massive crowd. Oh, sometime I wish I could be like this
firefly. The natural plugged-in bulb on its butt is like a good music; it
catches everyone’s attention, it makes girls screaming, it turns people in
love, it feels my disease. Then it was decided. For fame and fortune, I want to
be a rockstar!
A
few minutes later, my dream cloud collapsed when I saw the firefly was cut in
two as it flew near the ceiling fan. It was tragic. I didn’t know where upper
half is but I could see clearly the spark of the bottom half slowly fading and
exploded, BOOMM!
Pity
him, selling out bug.