The Last Firefly: a short story by Kody Boye
In which two teens face a challenge that will be the last of its kind
I stand at the edge of the farm with my hands in my pockets and my eyes set ahead. Chest tight, back ramrod straight, I listen to the wind as it cuts through the tall grass like a whisper, and try my hardest not to feel as if this moment is one of my last.
But, I suppose it is.
This was meant to be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion—a time in which I was meant to experience great joy, and even greater wonder. Instead, I feel more sad than anything.
The last of the fireflies have gone extinct.
All except one, I think.
Jin holds the glass jar the small creature rests within as if it is the most delicate thing on the planet, as if it is capable of suddenly bursting into flame at any moment. His quiet contemplation, and even softer gaze, reminds me of the importance of what we are about to do.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
Jin lifts his eyes from where they have remained set on the firefly for some time. His gaze falters when it meets mine, and though I can tell he is trying to maintain his composure, I understand that this moment is special for him, and cherished beyond measure. I would not be surprised if he cries this night.
“How am I feeling?” he asks, and waits for me to offer a nod before he lowers his eyes once more. “I’m… I’m honestly not sure.”
“Do you feel some sense of peace?” I ask him. “In knowing that it will be able to fly free for one last time?”
“I… I don’t know,” he says.
We remain silent, then, the two of us—he with his hands around the jar, me with my hands in my pockets. I struggle not to feel the overwhelming sense of melancholy that plagues the air, the undeniable friction that exists between us at this moment.
I came out here to offer my support. Instead, I can’t help but feel I am intruding on what should be a private moment.
In the distance, a truck rolls down the lonely dirt road, its headlights cutting a swath of light across the darkness of the early evening. Briefly, we are illuminated—Jin and his trembling hands, my own still in my pockets.
“It’s just—” Jin starts to say.
I tilt my head to look down at him. “Just… what?” I ask.
“The world has changed so much in the past ten years,” he says. “There’s been so much war. So much hate. So much trauma that has come along with it. I feel like our world is falling apart.”
“But people like you will make it better,” I tell him. “People like you, who have kindness in their hearts, will someday change the world.”
The firefly buzzes, and through a chemical reaction known as bioluminescence, lights a spark that brightens the night. It is like lightning in a bottle. A flash, instantaneous, before the world goes dark once more.
Jin smiles at the creature, which in truth is really no bigger than either of our thumbs. He then lifts his eyes to consider me, and asks, “Do you really believe it?”
“Believe what?”
“That people like me will someday change the future?”
Again, there is a flash; then not long after, a darkness.. The sun is going down, and in but a moment, it will be true night—a time before which Jin had promised he would release the firefly, before we wouldn’t be able to see it fly away.
“It’s almost time,” I tell my friend.
Jin lowers his eyes. Considers the firefly in his grasp, locked away in the bottle, just waiting to take its final flight. “A part of me doesn’t want to let it go,” he says. “A part of me doesn’t want to watch it fly away.”
“We have to let everything go at some point,” I say.
“Do we?” he asks.
He lifts his eyes to face me, and this time, I can see his gaze, which looks so fragile, so weak. Then the firefly’s abdomen blinks once more, and I see a new emotion on his face—a confidence, a determination to do the right thing.
When Jin says, “Okay.”
And I ask, “Are you ready?”
My best friend nods. Then, slowly, he twists the metal cap off the milk jar, and extends it to the sky like I imagine Arthur had his sword, once upon a time.
“Go on,” Jin says. “Be free.”
It takes only a moment of recognition—for what I imagine to be instinct to settle in.
Then, not long after, the firefly extends its wings, and takes its final flight from the jar.
“How long do you think it’ll survive out there?” I ask as we watch the creature dance upon the breeze, its abdomen blinking once, then twice, before a third time, then a fourth.
“I don’t know,” Jin replies. “They’re supposed to only live long enough to mate and lay eggs.”
“And you’re sure this one was a male?”
“It’s the last of its kind,” Jin says.
“I know,” I reply.
I reach down—and for one of the few times in our short lives, I take hold of my best friend’s hand.
Jin squeezes my palm, just as I squeeze his.
“Thank you,” Jin says, “for coming tonight.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I reply.
A moment later, we turn our heads to face the field, and watch the firefly fly through the night.
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