Art Prompt Writing Competition #6 - GMuxx - Fireflies

Fireflies

So many flickers of blue, lavender really, but everybody said they were blue, although they were less blue than the sky just a bit earlier, or the one dress she liked because of its sapphire deepness. And certainly, less blue than his eyes, his shyly-following-her eyes.

She couldn’t see them now that they sat side by side, not quite touching, not quite looking at each other either. But she did see the almost too-deep-blue of them earlier, when they’d danced.

She’d been mesmerized by the flickering lights, the fireflies blinking in and out like too-fast stars when she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder.

“May I?” He dropped his eyes, as if he’d surprised himself by the question. She was too stunned to speak. She let him put his other hand around her waist. They swayed with too much space between them.

His face was flushed, the few freckles on the bridge of his nose in sharp relief. He took a step toward her and the dancing got easier, and then both his hands were on her waist, the two spots he touched burning deep into her. She was afraid to breathe, afraid to lose this touch she’d waited for so very long now. To lose this boy who’d looked at her as if she were pretty. As if he’d wanted to be close to her, only for some reason he couldn’t be. And now he was. She could feel the warmth of him, a thin layer of static between them.

He looked at her finally, eyes flicking the bluest of blue at her, face leaning in. She felt the heat of the blush on him. She lifted her head up, bringing them closer still. She felt him move and closed her eyes, her lips parted a little, just enough to let out a shaky breath, her hands wrapped tighter around the space between his waist and hip bone. But there was no kiss. There should have been by now, because that’s how those things were supposed to go, only there wasn't.

She opened her eyes and he was watching her, a small smile on his face. He leaned in, lips brushing her hair, her cheek, voice a whisper. “The song ended minutes ago and everybody’s staring at us.” And then his blue fireflies flicked over her face, and his hands weren’t hot around her anymore and he wasn’t blushing like he was before.

She was angry and embarrassed, but she followed him to this silent place by the water anyway. Because he’d asked.

He faced her now, a shadow of a frown lifting his brow. “I’m sorry. About, you know. Earlier.” She wished there’d been no moon so he couldn’t see her cheeks turn red. She hoped he couldn’t anyway.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, took a deep breath. “But you shouldn’t have danced with me.”

He blinked, shook his head. “I didn’t…. I didn’t dance with you, kid. I danced with Ella.” And he smiled at her, a small soft smile, the way her uncle smiled when she’d caught a big enough fish. In the not kissing or wanting to way.

She shut her eyes and dug her fingers into the sand. It felt cool and soft and satiny, unlike any sand she’d ever touched. And wrinkled. She smoothed her hand over the wrinkles, wanting to fix the sand that wasn’t sand at all anymore, but the too-kid-like sheets her mother insisted on, the ones with the pink flowers and brightly colored birds on them. The ones that made her feel small.

She looked up, and the moon was suddenly too large, too bright, not making any shadows. And she couldn’t feel the misty breath of water on her face. Couldn’t feel the closeness of the boy on her skin. Or the almost kiss.

She wrapped the fleece blanket around her back. The dying stars in the mason jar on her bedside table flickered the palest blue, and turned to bugs, nothing mesmerizing or pretty about them.

Fireflies, all grown up.

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_{Image by the wonderful @Tanglebranch, used here with her permission.}

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