Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Final Entry

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The final entry....This story is an  embarrassment in my attempt to write a romance story -  why I have published it, I am not sure. In conclusion - I can not write romance. I hope you enjoyed it or at least had a chuckle from it. I think I shall not try romance again.

September 20... 

Getting close to my birthday already, how old next? Twenty-seven no fifty-seven, but   who cares it’s only a crazy number.   Finished my latest story attempt, let’s see this will be rejection number what?  Or maybe published story number one. Who cares I’m enjoying the challenge, enjoying the writing, the creativity.  Best of all - I enjoy life!

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 9

 Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

July 19th…

Crowded today and hot, makes it a good day for iced coffee.  Well Football Hero hasn’t been here for a while. Maybe this isn’t his regular store he could have just been passing through.  I probably should change coffee shops, seems to be about the right time for that. 

Now this man coming in isn’t bad.   He is talking about making sausage to the young girl at the next table.  Hmmm is making sausage a code statement for something else?  He must be my age and he is another one in good shape.  Very good shape!

Observation – people in good shape drink plain coffee- no whipped cream piled high over the cup - no huge hunks of coffee cake totaling a million calories each.

Sausage maker says he is sixty-seven, - wow my grandpa didn’t look like that come to think of it my father either.   He is talking about his granddaughters’ birthday. She is as old as my daughter. Another observation – maybe the coffee shop is the fountain of youth.

My energy detector is going off full throttle.  It’s him. Football Hero he’s back and looking better than ever today.  He must have been running today… so that is how he keeps in such great shape.  He is getting an iced coffee, number two thing in common.  Should I say something?  Yes…. No….remember high school’s embarrassing moments?

Getting the courage to ask the football star to the turnaround dance.   Back in those days girls waited for boys to approach them.  Once a year in the spring the school would sponsor a dance to give the girls the opportunity to feel the fear of asking for a date – feel the rejection that the boys felt when they didn’t meet the standards expected of them.   Of course I did get to experience all that rejection and humiliation and here I am fifty-six and still scared. Guess I earned scars from the whole experience.  Well remember this is the twenty-first century, talk to him what can happen?  I am not proposing marriage, but hmm, I think I would want to propose a little encounter, more than just a weak little ‘hi there, how are you’?  Just go up to him and say ‘haven’t I seen you in here before, care to join me’?  Oh my I’m going to die on the spot if he rejects my invite. Make Note: Better wait, no can’t afford to wait...

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 8

Image courtesy of Jeroen van Oostrom/FreeDigitalPhotos.net       

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

June 12th…

Ok something has to give sooner or later.  Stories keep being rejected, but remember Stephen King’s spike holding all his rejection slips.  Hold on and don’t give up, my time has not yet come.  Maybe I need that partner who will find my breakthrough story I tossed in the trash and he tells me how it will be my story to lead me to success.  Yeah sure, I should be so lucky.  What do I want, luck in publishing or luck in love? Maybe both, is that too much to ask for?

Get that coffee. A good jolt to the system is always the cure to what ails you.  Oh my, the coffee counter girl has green and white streaks in here hair, must be a real company girl.  Don’t have to worry about here thinking I’m strange for the way I take my coffee or bagel. 

Did I ever tell anyone that I feel energy from people?  Well I do very strongly. That is why I have such a hard time going to conventions and seminars.  Conventions especially where people are from all over the country or other parts of the world.  People who are looking for a quick sexual encounter just because they are there and can get away with it. And after all what are conventions for, at least for some of the population. That activity emits a lot of energy, energy that I pick up very strongly and can be very difficult for me to handle. So I stay away from all the writers’ conventions, just to keep myself calm. Is that why I can’t get published? 

Someone here has some strong energy I am detecting it right now.   Don’t think they are here for a tryst, but they have something going on.  Who is it? My, oh my, this man coming up to the counter for his coffee.  Wow, tall, very broad shoulders tapering down to a pretty nifty butt I must say. Think some twenty something jocks could be jealous of that, or maybe give them hope they can look that way at this age.  He must be around sixty, and well preserved, more hope for getting older.  He does smell good, haven’t been close to a good scented man for a long, long time.  Oh my God he has blue eyes. I feel faint like a teenager next to the football hero. I think I am getting a hot flash.  No wait I took my hormones today, must be a flash of lust.  Like he is going to even notice me, silver haired with my skin thinning and loosing its elasticity, but look he has graying hair and I must ad a little skin showing on the top of his head.  I never would have thought bald would end up looking sexy and appealing. Getting older sure does change your view of things. Remember Grandpa, remember Chemistry book man, they were not looking at the ‘young chicks’. He drinks his coffee the same way I do dark roast with a shot of espresso, our first thing in common.  How romantic!   Oh, he is using his wife’s coffee club card; oh no he asked if he could change it to his she has passed.  Poor man, I know how that feels, should I give him my condolences?  Oh come on, snap out of it.

Get control of yourself silly old girl.  Take your coffee not his. Oh how embarrassing. I hope he didn’t notice.  Go to your table.  Write.  Drink coffee.  Daydream about Football Hero...

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

 

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 7

Image courtesy of Jeroen van Oostrom/FreeDigitalPhotos.net       

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

May 29^th…..

It is morning, the coffee shop just opened.  The coffee shop people start early.  Made my rounds through the bargain books.  ‘Last Chance’ the sign says as the books are lined up on the shelves ready to march out the door after being rejected by the reading people.  Losing to the self made best sellers, the book tours the media has used to manipulate the minds of the consumer into believing this makes the book.   ‘Best of the Year…. Incredible piece of writing…. Better writer than ‘who ever’ yeah…sure.   Sorry last chance; guess you needed a better PR company.  Guess my writing frustration is showing again. 

Settling down with a bagel and a tall cup of dark roast coffee with a shot of espresso.  Why do they look at you like you are some sort of unknown creature when you don’t want cream in the coffee and no cream cheese or butter for the bagel… I am different…so?

Ok… who is here today?

Morning seems to bring contractors, businessmen, elderly, everyone. Different types of people at different times of the day just have to find your time and type.  Seems the coffee shop is the 21st century meeting place. Who would have thought a five-dollar cup of coffee could do so much.

Elderly man reading.  This man looks like a great grandpa.  My, he has a smile on his face as he reads, must enjoy reading.  Basic Chemistry…I guess he must really enjoy reading, poor lonely old guy.  Oh and who is this?  Classy elderly girlfriend, now I know why the big smile.  So, a tryst with the elderly, good to know there is still hope and excitement when getting older. I need all the encouragement I can get.  The older I get and the more I observe, the more I realize that passion and sex does not die. Seems by watching them it can get better.   I think it must be more intense.  I’m not that old, but this knowledge is good to have.  I guess he is recharging his mind, reading a science book along with a classy girlfriend…hmm the possibilities of life are wonderful.  Never give up on it….it?     Life?  Romance? Sex? Writing?...


© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 6

 Image courtesy of Jeroen van Oostrom/FreeDigitalPhotos.net       

This story started as I sat at the coffee shop on writing days observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

 April 22….

Focus!  You must stay focused.  Everyone tells me that. Why can’t I?  The coffee shop is slow today.  Many students.  Do they understand how precious their youth is?  There are many men here alone.  Why so many men out in the day alone?  Sometimes I think men read more than women do.  That’s what it is today, older men – busy reading.  You look at them they seem like Grandpas, still men but older men.  Do they still have the desires of the young men?  Grandpa is there looking through his sports magazine.  He doesn’t take his vest off, baseball type cap, why do they always wear those caps?

No one fears the older man, he is just the grandpa and that is no threat.  Now everyone looks at the table with the younger men and the girl.  They must be the ones with nothing but sex on their minds. Yes driven by hormones only.   You can see that by the silly grin on his face.  Sure after they leave here they are off for a romp. It is expected, yes youth.  Sex is so wasted on them.   Look at Grandpa, he doesn’t have the grin, he isn’t salivating over Miss Cheerleader with the short skirt yelling ‘Look at me.’  Maturity – yes maturity understands sex, desire, what it is really about.   It is not just hormone driven. The experience of life understands the importance, knows it isn’t just the moment of climax, knows how to find the deep feelings knowing that romance must accompany sex, understanding must accompany sex, caring must be there to make it complete.  Knowing the total person, everything about them must accompany sex. Sex for the sake of sex is nothing.  Sex, deep passion, comes with understanding it is just not for your own pleasure, pleasing your partner is the most important, then that alone will please you totally, sexually, spiritually, in every way.  Mind and body are really connected into one; one cannot be totally happy and pleased without the other feeling the same. 

Grandpa doesn’t look at Miss Cheerleader. He looks over at the mature women, the one who carries herself with grace, dignity, beauty, knowing what her life is, knowing what is important and what pleases her.   The two of them, yes, real passion would develop, real caring, real love.  The youth, silly as they are, they think lust belongs to them.  Lust, passion and love belong to the experienced, yes the mature know.  Society has it wrong; the youth will destroy it, give love and sex back to those who know what it really is. 

Maybe being alone for so many years has frustrated me.  Spent all that time raising the kids, working, taking no time for me.  Now where is life?  Retirement is advertised as the time to do things, what things?  Daughter’s divorce will be final soon, son now on his second wife, but I think he has a good sex life with this one.  A good sex life is important for the young. For the young at heart too?  Again, focus on the writing. I can still be a writer at this age.  I must have sex on my mind today.  Am I a frustrated writer, or a frustrated lover?   Need more coffee, now!    Make note: I need sex...

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 5

Image courtesy of Jeroen van Oostrom/FreeDigitalPhotos.net       

This story started as I sat at the coffee shop on writing days observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

February 14….

Today is Valentines Day. I think I see all kinds of love in this coffee shop.  The world is so blessed to have all types of love to fit every life.   Wrote a little poem or sonnet or something for today.

            I hear your voice in the foggy mist

            I search my love to find you

            I know you are there I feel your presence

            But I can’t find you.

            My heart, my mind, my soul,

            Filled with your energy

            Fog is between us

            I reach my love but cannot touch you

            I hear your voice I cry out - my words bounce back

            Fog is thick

            I search my love to find you

            I need to see you

            Need to hear you

            Need to touch you

            Fog between us -

            Stops us cold.

Not sure what that means.  Not sure what this day means.  I see no one here today to write up as a character.  Coffee shops, writing, love, desire, passion, and age maybe it all means nothing.  Get more coffee… and chocolate....

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 4

 Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

January 10….

Starting again.  Trying to get the creative feelings going for the New Year.  Writing every day…haha…a joke I think.  Am I looking for something or not? 

Seems to be baby day at the café.  A couple with a grandbaby, they are much older people than me.  There are also two men with two children.  A cute little toddler girl and an infant in the seat still with a snowsuit on, I can’t tell if the infant is a boy or girl.  I think they are a gay couple, just seem like they are partners and not baby sitting for their wives.  They are in early 40’s, African- American.   The one man knows how to take care of the children very well; the other man was looking at cookbooks.  The kids are so cute, they seem happy, the whole family seems happy.  The little girl is waving at me. I don’t think she knows I’m white or that I’m fifty-six or that I still have such lustful sensual thoughts and feelings, at my age.  No one knows that, shouldn’t that be gone when silver moves into the hair and retirement come?  Maybe I’m odd.  I wave back at the little girl.

Look at them, such a happy family the kids are so cute you can see they are so loved.  Some would criticize this family consisting of two dads thinking it so awful for the kids.  I don’t know, isn’t love just love.  Those kids could have “mommy & daddy” and just exist with no love, only hate, misery and abuse given to them.  And the two men, they seem so content with each other.  A partner to go through life with to share the pain and the love, having someone to share life with sounds so ideal.   Make note:  need a life partner.

I am drinking a Chi Tea Latté; the old man at the counter does not know how to make it very well.  Aretha Franklin is not here, wasn’t here before Christmas either. I wonder if she was the one who fell. I heard that someone fell.  I hope not. I miss Aretha, she likes my hair, and I need people to remind me I still am good.

The Grandma must be a great-grandma.  She is having fun with the baby.  She has no worries, raised her kids now she is having a great time with the baby. Two different generations, two that can get along and are sometimes forgotten and they both can learn so much from each other.  Society needs to respect elderly people they have much love to give to children. Will I ever be a grandma?  I’m old enough, oh but my mind is twenty-six and I still have lustful sensual thoughts and feelings. Grandmas can’t have those. Can they?  ....

© Copyright 2014   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 3

 Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This story started as I sat at the coffee shop on writing days observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

December 6….

Been busy preparing for the holidays now.   Worked very hard on hiking story, finished it and sent it out to several friends to read.  This could be a mistake since these friends are not writers.

Here I am, back at the coffee shop.  Need to clear up my writer’s block.   I get scared sometimes – maybe I have no ideas for stories; or I could have too many.  Maybe this whole crazy notion to be a writer in my retirement years is just that, a crazy notion.  I must want something out of this part of life.

Trying to write. I have been exercising to motivate my mind.  Physical activity and the brain must be connected some how, though I certainly haven’t found the connection out running the track.  Keep ‘looking for the words’. Where are they?

Today’s characters…two old people.

She intensely reads the paper.  Dresses for comfort not for style, but is style important when you are elderly?   Her bulky sweatshirt seems to be the only means of keeping the cold winter temperatures away.  Her stocking cap sits snuggly on her short thin gray hair.  Maybe no one told her that her hair was pretty.  She has an Eleanor Roosevelt look to her.  You can see at no time in her life was she a beauty, but her intense concentration on her newspaper shows a search for knowledge, for information.  She defiantly does not want to live her life uninformed.  To her being ignorant to the facts of the world around her would be a violation of life.

Her husband approaches the table after searching the bookstore.  He is also a well-seasoned reader.  Odd couple they are.  Even in his advanced years it can be seen he has always been better looking than her.   Society always wonders why is a good-looking man with such a homely woman? 

Question of mankind again: why must the woman be beautiful?   Why do we question this situation when it exists, homely woman - good looking-man?  Look at birds; the peacock is the stunning bird while the peahen is the drab and plain bird, but look at what she can produce.  The ugly man with the beautiful woman, good for him they say.  The handsome man with the ugly woman raises the question, what is wrong with him?  Has anyone ever thought some people may look at the inner soul and not the outer wrapping?  Many wonderful people are overlooked just because they are not beautiful.  Shame on us!....

© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 2

Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

November 5….

Haven’t written or studied writing for a week.   The process does make me think young.   It does put me in an emotional slump if I don’t write…so write! 

Make room for writing. Make room for studying how to write and make room for research.  Bought study books and some sort of writing software today.  What am I looking for now, a new career as a writer or a new hobby?  Looking for something, maybe answers.  All these years of working all these years of living, there must be some answer to something I want to know.  But what do I want to know?

Who will be my character study today?  There, the Coffee Shop Couple –

They are young, but been together for a while, probably were high school sweethearts before marrying.  He is very good looking and in good shape.  She seems to have been pretty once, maybe the “Prom Queen”. Years have put pounds on her, so many she is on her way to being handicapped, has trouble walking. 

They sit and read, they must make the coffee shop/book store a regular habit.  I should talk I think I’m a regular now.  They comment on their reading but are pretty much in their own “cell”.  Him especially.  She makes comments he faintly listens, but he still loves her, kisses her when she needs his help getting off the chair. But he is missing something, he lives comfortable but needs a more charged emotional, physical life, it shows on his face and in his eyes. 

How does it happen?  How does love move into such drudgery?   Shouldn’t we always care, shouldn’t we always try.  What makes passion and desire take a nap with the one we thought would keep it alive?  Do we live too long?  Make too many personality changes so we out grow people, move on from what we felt and thought was our life dream.  Do our social rules stop us from letting our human side live as it was meant to live?

Make note: examine humans, their daily social routine and desires, both controlled and non-controlled.  Get more coffee...

© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 1

Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

October 29….

It’s two days after my fifty-sixth birthday…oh… almost said twenty-six but that is how I feel inside.  It is hard some days to keep feeling that I have time to reach a goal.  Yes, I feel young, and then I pass the mirror and see time has not forgotten me.   Sure my hair is silver but I was in my twenties when that started, premature I’d say then, but not now.   My face doesn’t have the river of wrinkles some women my age have, but anyone can tell at first glance that I belong to AARP.

Now here I am sitting at the coffee shop that is inside the bookstore, sipping on a large dark coffee.  Bought another book today, trying to purchase a new book each week.  Keep reading every day. Keep writing every day this is the goal for my new life. Retirement and living fifty-six years - I have to have a plan.

The clerk at the coffee shop is very friendly.  An African-American woman in her late 40’s, maybe early 50’s, plump with short curly hair, glasses and a classic face, regular looking not a beauty but not unattractive. She would be the type that would dress up well.   Seems to be confidant, caring, would be the person you want for your friend. Kind of reminds me of Aretha Franklin, yes she is my Aretha Franklin.  Her words to me as she handed me my coffee was “Your hair is so pretty.”  Fifty-six, yes I do need to hear those words.

Becoming a writer at this age is not unheard of.  Baby Boomers can achieve anything we want. We are a positive group, but try telling that to the young generation, they are in charge now.  So I dream seeing my first novel on the bestseller list - sure that is a dream.

I thought coming to the coffee shop might give me inspiration to become that writer.  Keep a journal they say, so I’m starting a journal.  If I hadn’t given up my dream of writing to be a wife and mother maybe I could look over to a whole section in the bookstore just for my novels - again in my dreams.

Observe people this will create characters, this will help me be a writer and will also keep me friendly.  Be friendly and friendly energy comes to you!  Whatever.  I’m fifty-six now, what can I say - be friendly - think young.   Oh please don’t let me be old and fade away.

Make note: Come to coffee shop once a week for inspiration. Write during the rest of the week...

© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak

Captured Fire - Part 10

 Image courtesy of suphakit73 /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This is the Tenth

installment of the 

short story 

Captured Fire

This story is the story of a nine-year-old boy,

Robbie, who enters a magical world where he learns about the meaning of life,

friendship, and respect for others.

***

Word of the rescue spread through the village by the time Robbie and the others returned.  Martworth greeted him as he entered their dorm room.

“Robbie I heard of your heroic feat saving our brothers. I do think you will be a historic figure and a group named for you after this.  If only you had been around that terrible night my father was killed,” Martworth said with a sadness coming to his face. “Maybe things could have turned out different.”

Then he looked over and saw Jason standing behind Robbie.  “Who are you?” he asked with a rude tone to his voice.

“Martworth this is my friend Jason.  He is here to also help me with the purpose,” Robbie said moving out of the way so Jason could step forward to acknowledge himself.

“Well nice to meet you,” Martworth extended his beetle hand out to greet Jason.

Jason hesitated, and then slowly extended his shaking hand a little. Each new situation still was difficult for his brain to grasp.

“Well any friend of Robbie’s can be a friend of mine, as long as you aren’t the Land-one they call the ‘terrorizing menace’.  I welcome you and hope we can be friends,” Martworth gave Jason a pat on the back.

“Oh, I’m not the terrorizing menace,” Jason said with a laugh, “Robbie is the one who won that title.  You should see how fast he can catch fireflies he always gets the most and…” Jason trailed off when he remembered where he was and whom he was talking to.

Martworth’s face turned pale, as pale as a firefly’s face could.  Then he looked at Robbie, as tears started to fill his eyes, “You!? You are the one! The killer of my father!” Then he turned and stormed out of the room.

Robbie tried calling after him. “Wait it’s not what you think, I didn’t know then, I did change that is why I am here.  Please Martworth understand.” But Martworth was out of sight.

Robbie looked at Jason. “Sorry,” Jason said actually sounding like he meant it.

But his sorry couldn’t help make anything better. Robbie realized he was the one responsible for the death of Martworth’s father, but how was he to know.

“Come on Jason I’ll show you around,” and the two quietly walked down the hallway.

 Martworth moved out of their dorm room and down the hall to room with Cagewire.  Robbie didn’t saymuch to Jason, and Jason knew enough to keep quiet. It was bad enough he had to figure out how to achieve his purpose he now had to find a way to make things right with Martworth. He went over and over in his mind how he could have been the one responsible for the death of Martworth’s father. He had no idea when it happened or which one he would have been, all he knew, he would feel awful if his father died, let alone killed by one of his friends.

Later that evening all the fireflies met at the regular meeting place under the oak tree.  Jason came along wearing his little flying suit.  Martworth avoided Robbie and laughed extra loud with the others. Robbie had no idea what would happen tonight.  Rosella said she would talk with Jason after she met with King Huron; hopefully something would soon be resolved. The King was skeptical if bringing Jason here was a good idea. 

Robbie took his place with the other fireflies and tried to be enthusiastic with the lightshow, but his heart was not in it tonight. He really missed home, and being a boy. He now wondered why he was even here.   Jason sat in a tree with no expression on his face watching the show.

There weren’t many boys out playing tonight.  Since the disappearance of a second neighborhood child parents were frightened and kept them in as much as possible.  Robbie did his part with his squad; after all he had a responsibility to his job.  He watched the conductor to signal his part in the show, but was distracted by the neighborhood boys at the far end of the yard. They were jumping wildly and swinging big nets on long poles up in the air.  The boys started tiptoeing in slow motion, crouching with a look on their faces that was familiar to him. ‘What are they doing?’ he thought, and then he realized they were using his calculation method to catch fireflies. He looked in the direction the boys were concentrating and there several feet in front of them was the group with Martworth.  The group was casually hovering in the air waiting their turn for the light show forgetting there could be danger surrounding them. They were slowly moving towards the ground as they were listening to Martworth tell a story.  Robbie started to yell as loud as he could to Martworth, forgetting his voice was too small to be heard across the yard. He started fluttering his wings and waving his arms then blinking in code to Martworth to look behind him.  But he ignored Robbie thinking he was just jealous because he could have friends and a good time without him. Martworth decided to take the group away from Robbie’s view and waved them to follow him to the next yard.  They all preceded to follow him without looking were they were going and flew right into the open ready nets the boys held in their path. The boys were astonished and jumped and hooted in jubilant celebration over the catch of the summer. They immediately raced over to a back yard gazebo to survey their prize.

The thought of the horrors before the group engulfed Robbie.  He immediately dropped from the light show and flew over to the group at the gazebo, determined to save his friends. As he approached he saw them squeezing and pulling off wings and bulbs, torturing the little beetles in every way possible.   Martworth was in a complete panic as he helplessly watched; traumatized he made his way up the net away from their grasp. He hid in the folds of the net near the handle where he was out of sight.  He sat crying and praying he would be over-looked and his life spared.  

Robbie, with all the power in his little body, hurried toward the boys and flew right into their faces, pounding them between the eyes.  The boys swatted at him and continued to work over their catch totally unaffected by his attack.   Adrenalin surged in him and non-stop he kept flying at their eyes and noses hoping the continued aggravation would make them forget about what they were doing, and just go back home.  But the boys were not going to let the little tickling of a bug turn them from the biggest treasure they had ever been rewarded. 

Robbie saw Martworth hiding in the net and tried to get his attention. “Help me I’m stuck in here. I think everyone is dead. Don’t get caught,” Martworth cried as Robbie worked to get him untangled.  It was almost impossible to get his little beetle legs out of the strings of the net, especially since the net wouldn’t stay in a stable position. The boys were busy pulling out the remaining fireflies from the bottom.  Someone noticed Robbie and quickly grabbed him since he was a little bigger and brighter than most of the fireflies.

“Hey look at this one.  I think I caught the king of them all. He is huge,” a boy yelled. Using all his strength Robbie struggled to get away from his hold. Just when he thought he was getting away, he heard a ripping sound and the pressure of pain as his bulb was ripped from his body.  Immediately followed by the pain of a wing releasing from his back.  He tried to hold back panic knowing he had to survive so he could save his friend. The fate of the whole colony was his responsibility.  Then he remembered that he was human even though he has a firefly body.  As a hand closed around him he took a big breath, opened his mouth, using his human boy teeth he took a bite out of the finger that surround him.

“Owwww,” the boy gave out a loud yell and dropped his winged prisoner. Robbie rushed back to the net as Martworth watched in disbelief.  The angry boy went after him. “No bug is going to hurt me,” he grabbed Robbie again and enclosed him in his warm moist hands.  Robbie tried to bite him again but found it difficult this time to get his teeth around a finger, the huge boy hand now crushing him.  Robbie prayed, he was sure he now faced death.  Then the boy slowly moved his hand to peer in at the small creature.  As the stream of light and fresh air traveled toward Robbie he imagined this is how it must have been for Rosella when he captured her. A huge blue orb, the eye of the boy, appeared between the fingers, lashes, like spider legs, moved past the blue backdrop as the boy blinked.  Robbie sat still and stared back at the eye. His hand, like the top to a box, slowly moved  off  him and the face of the boy reveled. The boy shook his head and moved in for a closer look.  The boy couldn’t believe what was sitting in his hand. All the talk in the neighborhood these past weeks had been about the missing boys, Robbie and Jason. Now the face of his friend on this firefly and all the chatter in the neighborhood about the boys brought fear to him. He screamed and dropped Robbie, running home shaking and crying.

Now free Robbie made his way up the net to get to Martworth while other boys grabbed the remaining fireflies that were still struggling for life. He was able to keep away from their hands and finally reached his friend who was watching him risk his life in the dangerous journey up the net.

“Can you move your legs from the rope?” Robbie asked as he reached him and tried to untangle the strings wrapped around the tiny body of his friend.

“I think I can, it is pretty tight, but I think I can get out if you can pull it apart.” Martworth made an effort to get free as his friend, bulb hanging and wings torn and broken, worked with all his might to set him free.  The two pulled and worked diligently with the strings of the net, which seemed like heavy ropes to the little beetles. Finally all their hard work paid off and Martworth was set free from what could have been his demise. Robbie collapsed from exhaustion and his injuries.  Martworth held his friend’s broken little body close to him, weeping as he tried to signal for help.

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© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak