Firefly

I made a friend by the campfire one night. I found him on the ground, flickering to his little heart’s content. I named him Phil, short for Phillight. I thought it was fitting. I looked closer, wondering why he hadn’t flown away when the fire was started. He was lying on his back helplessly, trapped by his own anatomy. I had to help him lest he be trampled carelessly.

I picked up a stick nearby and prodded gently until I had flipped him over. I watched with bated breath as he lay still. To my delight, the next second, he began to flap his wings. I had saved Phil’s life! Little did I know, in the unfortunate events that were to follow, he would fly in a drunken stupor directly into the crackling fire. The little firefly had taken his title too seriously.

Those few moments of my life were as theatrical and devastating as they were fleeting, but there was a lesson in the experience. Phillight taught me that destiny is, in fact, inescapable. He showed me that the timidest of lights can shine beside the brightest of flames.