A R T W O R K
B Y
E R I K S O N
A R C I L L A
Sleeplessness filled him again as he bumped against the wall. A glass too cramped and confining that made Toby feel so very small. How many days has it been? He can no longer recall. He tried to remember the fields enjoying life, having a ball. From being young and carefree, smelling the scent of flowers on vines. Hands enveloped around to catch him as a child shouted: “I've got mine. I've got mine.” Then everything was a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds. A jiggle and an jangle of a tin lid above him. Not one of his friends could be found. Sad, alone and afraid with lights that hurt his eyes, Toby clasp at the lone branch in the bottle hoping again to see the night skies.
Days that stretched to long lonely weeks. With big eyes watching him through glass, strong taps and a hard shake, erasing the little hope left that he has. But then a bag knocked over the bottle, down it went to the floor in a crash. And Toby felt the cold breeze on his wings. Seizing this moment he flew up in a flash. Through a cracked open window, only to find it raining out side. Toby, though weak yet undaunted, flew as far as his wings could provide. Not knowing where he was, eyes weary close to tears. He had winds carry him through a dark night despite his fears.
The wind blew past branches, beyond his weak grasp. But then there was a circle opening which his tiny wee legs could latch. Gasping and wet, he climbed in a respite from the storm. Where he was didn't matter he noticed his wings was now malformed. Weary and tired Toby collapsed into sleep's embrace only to be woken up by a clap of thunder and a looming dark shadowy face. Toby shrank into the corner of the bird house he was in. The rain pouring outside lighting flashing, his fear rising from within. As he moved the shadow furthered mimicking him without a grin. But then a sudden light that began flickering, Toby didn't know it was him.
As the light from inside him shone again, the shadow, now smaller, cowered at the end. Toby remembered what he was and shouted “I am firefly! A firefly!” as his spirit started to mend. Inside the bird house, his temporary home the light inside him grew even brighter. The pain he went through, the past, all of it now no longer mattered. He beamed. He shined though the rain poured outside. Even as the wind blew against his new home with his light now bright, his doubts subside. “I will save myself, be my own hero.” His light blasted and shone from within. Because that, my darling child is where fairy tales begin.