On the second day, after she grew into makeup and mini skirts, the girl who had just turned into a woman, swallowed a firefly. Boyfriend held her hand and taught her love and fire and life, and all was hot and exciting like it should be and she could fly.
On the third day, after she grew into wrinkles and silver strands, the girl who was no longer young, swallowed a fly. The kids held her hand and waved goodbye, and she felt invisible and sad and lonely, like she never expected she’d feel, and she could barely fly.
On the fourth day, old now, arthritis and kidney stones, she found no insect to swallow. The butterfly wasn’t that colorful anymore, the firefly dimmed, and even the fly had broken wings, still buzzing inside her head, an annoying reminder of devoured insects and instructions.
On that wonderful shiny day, after she grew wise enough to be herself, the girl who was a kid, a girl, a woman, started to wonder if life is an advent calendar but couldn’t see a final prize. She took a long breath and spat out the insects. She didn’t need help, or crutches, or wings. She spat out everything she had once swallowed and stopped counting. She didn’t fly, she didn’t need to, she didn’t have to. She found her feet and she rose and she walked.
Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist from Greece and the author of Christmas People and We Fade With Time. A Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions nominated writer, her work has been selected for the Best Microfiction anthology 2024 and Wigleaf Top 50.
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