by Sarah Schilling
Night falls on late-summer days like a wet kiss. In the damp darkness, our backyard becomes a firefly hotspot. My sister said the pop of light signifies a booty call. I catch one in a sealed jar and run to my sister’s room. She’s at her desk, staring at the wall. Something’s been wrong with her for weeks. I place the jar before her and she snaps awake. She grabs scissors and stabs them into the metal lid. “When the light goes out, nothing can save it!” I run outside and let it go, relieved the light is still there.