Tonight I walked longer than I normally do and ended up going to my library at a later time. Driving back, the neighborhoods were getting dark and I could see the fireflies out and about in the bushes.
Just past the odd house with the stone fence, but before the miniature castle, one of the fireflies headed into my car from the front and I hit him. Normally hitting bugs is not something I worry about, unless it’s a butterfly or moth; but fireflies seem such gentle creatures, and provide so much enjoyment. I’ve always appreciated how they hover about you as you stand near them, as if they’re curious, but unafraid, of this big monstrosity.
Another block, and more fireflies appeared in front of me. I couldn’t avoid them; only catching a brief glimpse of their bright neon-green light before they’re smashed against the metal (well, plastic) of my car.
The next block and it seemed as if I had a stream of fireflies heading towards my car; I can only guess they were attracted, or confused by, the lights. Each bravely flickered its butt in one last exaltation of light before throwing itself in a frenzy of hopeful lust to a very quick, and very sure, death.
When I got home, I contemplated the orgasmic remains of the tiny, now dark creatures on my bumper and thought that all things being equal, it wasn’t a bad way to go.
