micro fiction | lampyridae

An errant star whizzed past Tiff’s leg. It seemed the fresh ink and tiny blisters of blood stirred in its wake. My fault. I drove her to the tattoo parlor and swore she was eighteen. A lie about either of us. Guilt ignited my pledge of penance.

“You will not tell mom,” she said, dancing between clumps of grama grass.

“This is the part where I say it’s for your own good.”

She sneered, teeth white by moonlight. “I know, and when we’re older we’ll laugh and laugh—except we won’t. Jerk.”

“I could tell dad.”


A squadron buzzed around her legs and I read his name, coiled around her ankle. Like a shackle. “He’s not worth it.”

She rolled her teen idol magazine into a tube and smacked a firefly against her shin. Her giggles and the crunch of dry grass beneath her Toms receded into the night. Whop. Whop.

“Where are you going?”

“On a killing spree.”

Written for a contest on a blog. It had to include several words or phrases, and the only one I can remember is “killing spree.” Here, I threw out the 100-word limit and told the story as originally intended.

Besides glowing for mating rituals, fireflies glow to ward off predators. They’re distasteful or toxic, and predators learn to associate the glow with yuck!

I imagine the brother in this tale going on to make a point with another bit of firefly trivia… Some can’t produce the chemical to fend off predators. They mimic the mating flashes of species that can, lure them in, and eat them.

Pictured: light painting with fireworks. Close enough?

ball with tressa

This German shepherd is serious about ball. If she doesn’t get to go out at least once a day, she whines and moans as if she’s lost a friend. It’s raining this evening, and I’m preparing for the worst.

I’ll take her downstairs to watch a movie when she starts. She loves to snooze in the basement home theater and catch the occasional popcorn tossed her way… Yeah, that’ll sate her.


We have to take at least two balls—preferably three. She always comes back, proper fetch style, but I have to either get ugly with the “release” command or be fast with grabbing the ball from her mouth. She lets me take it easily enough, but she’ll stand between my legs with her head away from my hands.

With two or three balls, we can grab one off the ground while she catches the other. When it’s time for a rest, she’ll hoard them, one in her mouth, another gripped in her bear claws, and the third under her body. And she’ll cover the balls forever if we let her.


We’ve learned not to make her run too far. She’d run herself to death for those balls. So aside from a couple of long throws to mix it up, we’ll bounce them close by and let her leap for them. Means more throws without wearing her out too fast. More play, less panting.

dolphin technique

But all good things must end, and it’s time to go back inside. When she runs back and sees me holding another ball, she drops the one she just caught, usually while still running. If I’m ready, it’ll roll to my feet and I pick it up. Now, with all balls in hand, I say “house” and off she goes for the doggy door. Good dog!

shark bites moon

Pictured: Tressa at about one year old. You may note the fold of her left ear in the middle shot. Let’s just say Taiga, the husky, is serious about dominant play, and she rendered that ear so when Tressa was still a pup. Taiga, Taiga, Taiga.

sans visual cues

You hop in your ride, hit the road, and the first sign you pass is a message from the Department of Transportation.

Congratulations. We’ve upgraded your roadway to the latest version of Office.


And suddenly you have to be a lot more attentive, instead of paying attention to important things like driving.

Pictured: An accident scene just up the highway one night.