Words By Zoraida Cabrera-Mieles, Art By Khoa
“The lake house has magic,” I say and let the fireflies go.
On their short, chubby legs the kids run to the edge of the water and wait for the bugs to transform.
The lake house held magic, grandpa said. He would capture the fireflies and then let them go, because when free the bugs turned to fairies. I always wondered if fairies turned to bugs because they didn’t want us to see them. The day grandpa died I went fairy hunting. I caught the fireflies and then put the jar away. Every so often I tried to surprise them.
Soon the bugs stopped shining. They twitched at the bottom of the jar, never turned to fairies.