By RYAN L. FAURA
It got hit by the whirled, propeller blade of the electric fan in my room. First, pinpricks of blinking lights, then, caught by the wind that sneaked its way on the hinges of the window, it fell down, like shooting stars do sometimes- fast and quick- it hissed, and the lights, greenish, went out, blinking lights no more. Continue reading “The meditations on a firefly”