FIREFLY

The air stirred in the shrouding light, floating densely in the bedroom.

A car passed, its headlights slicing through the heaviness, casting shadows that danced across the dark walls over a faded family portrait of three, and the back of the hunched girl as it passed over the grimy windows.

She sat on the bed, staring at the flickering light of the bug next to her on the small, round nightstand. A present from her dear brother just hours earlier.

“Big Sis! Look! Look what I got!” His cry pierced through her senses, breaking the revered silence she basked in. His subsequent shrieks were nearly drowned out by his clumsy clamber up the narrow stairs that groaned under his heavy steps. He burst through the door, clothes soiled with grime and filth, bits of grass from the fields outside sticking out from his mussed black hair, eyes wide as he panted heavily – and for a second she was reminded of the bullfights she used to watch with Dad every Saturday afternoon on the telly. She remembered his promise to bring her to Spain when she was older to see real bulls in the ring, his wide grin when she jumped up screaming and hugging him. A memory as fleeting as the promise itself.

It took a few moments for the image of a raging bull, heaving as it readied itself for its next charge, to dissipate. She turned, fixing her attention on the windows. Perhaps if she pretended she hadn’t heard him he would leave her alone, like she always told him to.

“Big Sis!” She tried her hardest not to wince as she watched, from her periphery, soil fly from his feet, leaving fresh black marks on the clean wooden floor as he stumbled towards her.

When she was still around, Mum used to call him special, her very own “Nemo”. Born with one leg shorter than the other, his lopsided gait paired with lazy eyes that moved around wildly was enough for others to drag their children away from his friendly outstretched hand, shielding them from the monstrosity of whom she was related to.

“I’m busy Ryan.” She sighed, recoiling from the grubby fingers he had shoved into her face. He was pressed up against the side of her body – a dirty, pudgy weight with a big toothy grin that she loathed so much.

“Oh you’ll like this one! Look!”

Sighing, she decided it was best to merely play along. Grabbing his wrists down and away from her, she watched impatiently as he slowly relaxed his clasped fingers. There was a feeble, pulsing glow that oscillated between orange and yellow, hues bouncing off the curves of his palms.

Sunsets were her favourite time of the day. It reminded her of the best times – special trips to the docks every weekend as a break away from the countryside monotony, the smell of Mum’s signature golden dumplings, watching Dad dip his brush into mixed pigments of vermilion and gold that smeared across a blank canvas, capturing the exact point in time when the bright ball of fire touched the horizon, Collie’s furry gleaming coat that shone in the waning light as they both rolled around in the golden fields, laughter as fireflies burst from their hiding to escape their romp.

The firefly lay very still, legs curled up in the middle of his hands. One antenna was crooked – from his crushing grip no doubt – and it was missing a wing. But its glow remained all the more mesmerizing.

“I caught it all by myself,” he proclaimed, his grin becoming impossibly wider. She had never given him this much attention before. Even the stone grip on his wrists were now soft.

“It’s for you, Big Sis. I caught it just for you,” he whispered, bringing his hands away from her face slowly towards the nightstand, where – as carefully as he could – dropped the bug. Its light flickered.

When he came along, there was more shouting. More slamming, more crying. Dad couldn’t handle both a disabled son and sick wife together with the arduous work in the paddies. She remembered the walls shaking like how it did in monsoon thunderstorms, the pain radiating from her feet when she missed the small bits of porcelain on the floor. Till now, her parents’ door was still missing a hinge, the rip in the family portrait on her wall still discernible.

She blinked, and his smiling, hopeful face filled her vision. “I’m tired. Go outside to play.” She turned away. 

The floor was still soiled with his footprints, like the marks left by a bull against the rough sand it charged on.

It was only moments before that she had gotten the call.

He had been playing with his ball out in the yard, the witness had said, when it hit the wall and bounced over the fence. Toddling after it as it rolled across the road, his one good eye never saw the glare of the headlights, nor did he hear the blare of the horn.

From her room, she had thought it was a simple accident. A reckless driver swerving around another on the narrow country road, an impatient one speeding past… When she had reached, the body was already being loaded into the ambulance – covered with a white sheet dotted red. She hadn’t seen him, but the dark red that soaked the ground and familiar grubby fingers that dangled limply from the stretcher was indication enough.

Mum had tried changing her attitude towards him, even till her end.

“He’s all you have left.”

She watched the firefly. Its light had grown dim, as if the nightstand it lay upon was sapping it of whatever energy it had left. She imagined it as a life source, flowing from the table across the striations of the rickety floor planks, rushing down the stairs and out the door after the body speeding away. Perhaps it would have been enough – the light emitting from this small, insignificant body – to breathe just a little bit of life into him once again.

But what for? To say sorry? To repent?

If only he never came into this world.

But she knew such imaginings were just as they were – empty as the silence that permeated the room. It was almost dark, the blue red whir of fluorescent lights having long faded together with the wailing sirens. The firefly’s light now pulsed faintly, having spent its energy lumbering around the table in small circles, before slumping to one side in its final resting position. Its crooked feelers moved feebly, feet curled loosely as its light grew softer and dimmer.

At least it knew the end of its time in the world.

She watched as its body moved ever so slightly – up.. down… up… down…. up……

The final rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon, and the room faded into darkness.