Fallon
The soft, eerie lilt of my voice reciting the rhyme reverberates through the dark room, barely above a whisper. My father used to sing this to me as a child when I caught fireflies on weekends when he would come home.
“In the dark where shadows creep,
Little Firefly takes her leap,
Wings aglow, she dances light,
Unaware of the Spider’s sight.”
Little did he know those words held a different meaning for me back then. Now, I no longer have fireflies to whisper to in the dark—only silence and the growing weight of the darkness, which seems to deepen every day.
Each syllable is a fragile thread connecting me to my past. In my childhood fireflies weren’t just bugs in a jar. They were my only light in the pitch-black—a tiny, flickering hope in a world filled with fear. Even as a li
