Tears of St. Lawrence

by johannespunkt

Grey, fibrous strings of light fall from the sky, and lead the way. The fireflies dance around them. The little girl spends all her time with her neck craned. She went out into the woods because she always knows her way home.

She looks down for just a second; there is a pinecone all dark and prickly like a hand grenade. When she looks up, a cloud has rolled in far too fast. She cries big tears that roll down her cheek like shooting stars.

The fireflies dance up in the sky above her, assuming the patterns of the constellations.