The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #47

jarThe Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #47

One Image

One Prompt

One Emotion

200 Words

Fireflies in a jar

A Timber Rattler

A Feeling of Nostalgia

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8 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #47

  1. Ah, those were the good old days. Mat, my ersatz brother from another mother and our adoptive family of misfits was joined by one Mary Fletcher. Mary was young, maybe fourteen. Mat and I were a few years older. I knew Mary need a proper initiation because of the way she clung to a quart jar of fireflies she had brought with her. Silly girl. I ran to Mat with the idea of putting the fireflies in the old aquarium where he kept his Crotalus horridus named Miss DaVur. I wanted know if the steampunk lady snake liked unripe, green fireflies and if the snake was quick enough to catch them. Mat said it would change DaVur’s colors. That night we put our idea to the test. Mat was right. It did make the snake glow in the dark.

  2. “Chris! So good to see you again, me old mate!”
    “Likewise, likewise.”
    The two old timers sat on the porch, brought together once again after 60 odd years by an old friend’s funeral. The last of the mourners had left, leaving them to chew things over and reminisce.
    “Remember ol’ Mamie?”
    “Red haired Mamie? Yes, of course.”
    “Wow, she was a hot one, that girl! A right goer! Always ready for a weekend quickie. Whatever happened to her, eh?”
    “I married her. Buried her 18 years ago.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes.”
    “Right. Well, err, what about when we took on the Terrible Duo…!”
    “…and I got a broken jaw and had to start wearing false teeth at the age of 11.”
    “Uh-huh. Yeah. And when we took that jar of fireflies down to the lake to check out whether frogs really did glow in the dark if they ate ’em?”
    “Yes, I remember. I got bitten by a timber rattler and had to be helicoptered over to the county hospital because the doctor was out of antivenom. My heart stopped twice.”
    “Ah, those were the days, eh?”
    “No, Jordan, not really.”
    A firefly flew slowly by, its bulbous lower abdomen flashing green.

  3. “Life was so much sweeter when I was little guy,” he said. He got up from his chair and came to the glass and leaned against it, looking in.

    He continued, “All those summer nights, running through fields detonating hapless lightning bugs and cheering at the glowing streaks as their broken forms dropped into the grass; my whiffle bat all aglow with gore.”

    “Of course, some I would capture and keep instead. Watching them from bed, glowing brightly in a mason jar, until at last all the air was gone within and their light faded.” At this he sighed hard and stepped away from the glass.

    “The troubles I face now while reveling in the death of living things is so burdensome. I yearn for those long past summers.” He looked at me. “Do you understand?”

    I struggled in my bindings inside the large glass tank. The gag in my mouth kept me from answering.

    “Well, I suppose you do, or shortly will anyway.” The man walked into the darkness and returned with a burlap sack. He raised it up over the lip of the glass tank and shook out its contents.

    Several Timber Rattlers fell to the tank floor.

  4. A WORTHY CAUSE

    “I love putting up the plums each year,” my sister said. “Remember Mom? Shelves full.”

    I nodded. “Until she read of botulism. Some woman who killed her entire family.”

    We both laughed. Actually, our mother’s enthusiasms were well known and the ‘feeding the family from the fruits of the land’ was only one of them.

    “Pass the brandy,” my sister said. She filled the jar to the brim and put on the lid.

    “Remember her crusade about getting rid of the bald eagle?”

    “In favour of the timber rattler?” she asked. “Of course.”

    “She was right,” I said. “I’ve just read that even Ben Franklin thought it should be the symbol of the new state in America. It carried the saying, ‘Don’t tread on me’.”

    “Perfect!” she exclaimed. She put the jar on the top shelf along with its fellows. “Little America rebelling against the might of England. An apt warning about what could happen if provoked.”

    “But a snake wasn’t grand enough.” I sighed. “No, we had to imitate Imperial Rome.”

    “Like Nazi Germany,” my sister said. “I think I might take up the cause.”

    “Like mother like daughter,” I murmured while eyeing last year’s bottles. “Can we toast your success?” I asked. “In brandied plums?”

  5. “Is he dead?”
    “Yep, dead as a door nail”
    “That rattler got a direct hit.”
    “Look at him; all sprawled out.”
    “His mother’s gonna be mighty upset about this”
    “Look, forget about his mother. We’ve got problems of our own.”
    “Yes, I see that. What are we gonna do about this situation?”
    “I don’t know. “
    “Hey, I was watching the boy. The top comes off if it’s turned around several times.”
    “Hmmmm, position yourselves around the rim, and everyone fly in the same direction … ok? GO!
    “That’s no good. Try the other direction.”
    “This isn’t WORKING!
    “I think it’s hopeless.”

    Sitting down, side by side, the four fireflies rest their heads in their hands, and give one large communal sigh.

    “Remember when …”
    “What? We were all born, like, yesterday!”
    “Are you coming on to me!”
    “NO, no, I’m sorry. It flashes like that when I’m nervous.”
    “Well, it doesn’t matter. We’re all gonna die.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “He never punched any holes in the lid.”
    “NOOOOO! Damn you BASTARD!!”

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