based on true events
Just like Huckleberry Finn, I was an adventurous soul in my young’un years, back in the mid to late 1970s. If I couldn’t indulge in adventure on the physical realm—thanks to curfews and such I couldn’t buck like Huck—then the escapades continued in my dreams. Sometimes, though, I’d get stuck in a loop. Like when I met Flash.
Each night I drifted off, somewhere between my last thoughts and an unfamiliar place where cattails grew thick along the riverbank. I’d follow the river upstream, toward an open field where the ground rose slightly higher than the marsh behind me and glistened with moss. But I never touched down to feel the difference—I hovered above with ease, drawn deeper into the light.
This played on repeat. The same dream, the same scenery: swampy and dusky, leading me on. It was as if my own instincts carried me—through the marsh, over the wooden planks, and above the snow—until I reached the place where Flash awaited. As I walked through the dream alone, the landscape shifted around me. Each fleeting world felt like a stage set, fading as I moved toward him.
For all its monotony, the journey always ended at the same place: a plain old parking lot. No matter how many nights I tried to steer it elsewhere in my mind before sleep, the course and destination stayed the same. And faithfully, I followed that tiny firefly wherever he led me from there.
Flash was his character name. He was our lightbulb in the night, flickering in synchronistic Morse code—twice for yes, once for no. A green machine, zipping around like a current. But this little fella didn’t need batteries. What we both needed, though, was a way out of this journey going nowhere.
Night fell again, and as I closed my eyes, there he was—my flashy firefly. This time, as we rounded the bend toward the usual parking lot, something was different. Flash was frantic, crashing into the side of a vehicle, bouncing off headlights, smacking the hood. He wouldn’t answer me—no blinking yes, no blinking no. Gone was the peaceful guide who’d always glided in swoops and long arcs.
Was he dying?
I woke… upset for having done so. I was worried about my friend. What happened to Flash? Would I ever see him again? I didn’t want to go have breakfast like Mom asked, but I knew I couldn’t just fall back to sleep either — not until I’d worn myself out over the course of the day.
Flash would have to wait, because today was the day for my big adventure to Saskatchewan. The rest of my family stayed behind, saying they’d meet up with us later in the week. But I’d waited all summer for this — I couldn’t wait another minute! I’d have been out the door a week ago at the mere mention of “guess where we’re going?”
Grandma and her friend Bob picked me up in his blue Ford — a 1960 Falcon muscle car. It was a charmer. So was Bob. He was Elvis reincarnated! Not that I’d agreed to go with Grandma because of him — well, maybe a little — but the idea of heading out east in a muscle car with Elvis at the wheel? That had my interest piqued!
Along the way, we stopped at a gift shop where Grandma surprised me with a Mattel doll. She was adorable — big blue eyes, blonde hair, a green blouse and skirt with white suspenders. The manufacturer’s tag read Firefly, of all things. She was the apple of my eye. I cuddled and snuggled her all the way to the next stop, at least until my attention shifted to something else.
After hours pent up in the backseat, I wasn’t exactly a content little fella. I pretty much resented being told to shut up when I asked if we were there yet. But at last, we were — somewhere. Parked in front of a corner diner. Before my face could explode into a million frowning fragments of boredom, Grams let me out of the backseat to blow off steam.
Adventure hovered just beyond sight, whispering a secret I was meant to find.
based on true events
It was a stare from here to there — and in an instant, I was on that old Saskatchewan wooden sidewalk. Most walkways I knew were cement, some gravel. But this wooden plank? That was new. The thought of how much noise I could make stomping across it was as delightful to me as smoking was to Grandma. I raced up and down its length, hammering out all my unrest, the boards rattling beneath my feet like a snare drum, each stomp louder than the last. The wooden planks creaked and groaned in rhythm with my heartbeat, and I felt the tension melt off me, leaving only breathless excitement. When I finally ran out of steam, I zipped around behind the building — and slowed to a crawl.
There they were. Cattails, in full bloom, their velvety brown heads swaying gently in the breeze. They lined the embankment, tall and watchful, just like in my dreams. The marshy smell of mud and grass rose up around me, familiar and strange all at once. My heart thudded with something I couldn’t name — curiosity, maybe, or the eerie thrill of seeing a secret come to life.
Did this mean Flash was real? My eyes scanned the reeds, half-expecting a tiny green glow to zip past, to flicker twice for yes. The world felt quieter somehow, like it was holding its breath, waiting for what might come next.
I could hear Grandma calling faintly in the background, but my memories took precedence. Was it possible that Flash was here? Was I supposed to meet him? The water stretched endlessly before me, rippling under the cattails, but I couldn’t spot his light anywhere in the distance. Maybe it had never been a dream at all — maybe I was meant to follow the path.
“Get your ass over here!” Grandma hollered loud and clear. She wasn’t timid with expression, and I high-tailed my little self to her side before anything disturbing, like a painfully hot humdinger on my rear-end could happen.
I thought about Flash the whole time I sat in the diner, picking at my fries. I stared out the window, hoping for a glimpse, but deep down I knew there was no way to get to him. Grams would never understand our friendship. The only option was to let it go — at least for now — and hope to see him again that night in my dreams.
We finished our meal, took our washroom breaks, and headed back out to the car. My balloon belly, filled with fries and chocolate milk, made it nearly impossible to move. The thought of stretching out in the backseat for the rest of the trip felt like the only reward left in the day.
Grams hoped into the passenger’s seat, Bob slid behind the wheel, and he started the engine. But within seconds — bang! A sharp crack. Then another — snap! crack! And then, boom! The whole front end of the Falcon burst into flames. Fire spread across the windshield, climbing and curling like moths to a porch light.
Everyone scrambled. Grandma and Bob bolted from the car while I sat frozen, mesmerized by the flames. They glowed and flickered, hypnotic — just like the rear end of a firefly. Except this wasn’t the soft glow of my friend; this was the blazing front of a car, eating itself alive. Someone banged on the side of the vehicle, shouting,
breaking through my trance. The door flew open, and Bob grabbed my arm, yanking me out. My world flipped upside down. I was fit to be tied, kicking and screaming to break free of his grip, determined to get back to the car — back to my doll — back to something.
But before I could take another step toward the inferno, Grandma had me by the collar. She pulled me back, reached into the car, snatched out my doll, and stepped away, unharmed. Then she turned on Bob, hollering at him not to pour water on the fire. That baffled me — since when didn’t water put out a fire?
Before I could ask, someone burst from the diner with an extinguisher, spraying foam until the flames shrank down to heavy smoke and silence.
based on true events
It was like a breath of fresh air — only not with the fresh or the air. Actually, the place stunk! It smelled like burnt rubber and matches. Everyone coughed for a while afterward before things settled down.
We waited at one of the diner tables for Grandma’s brother to pick us up. They talked in low voices about engine oil and fuel tanks, about what could’ve caused the fire. I stretched out on the bench, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts far from their grown-up worries.
I closed my eyes, hoping for another chance to see Flash — to tell him all about how we’d gotten caught in a fire. But when I opened them again, I realized I hadn’t dreamt at all.
And then it struck me, cold and clear. Had we not stopped at that diner — had I not taken off to see the cattails, lost in my own world for those extra minutes — we would’ve been driving down the road when the car exploded. Flash had been trying to tell me, night after night. The parking lot, the frantic slapping at the headlights — it hadn’t been just a dream. He was warning me, showing me the danger before it happened, guiding me safely to this very place.
Every night forward, no matter how much I longed to see that flicker of green light, sleep would come and go without so much as another adventure with Flash. But deep down, I knew — my tiny, brilliant friend had done what he’d come to do.
Fact or Fiction:
The cattails were merely added flavor for a recurring dream that seemed to be a premonition of a fire yet to come.
Truth is, these dreams always began drenched in the same swampy conditions — likely because that’s where the firefly lived. His light led me away from the water, revealing the wooden walkway I would later walk across, and then the snow that echoed the foam from the fire extinguisher.
When the firefly slapped himself onto the car’s hood, the message was clear: fire on the car.
FIREFLY | Deviant | NOMADS | KINESIS
OTHERWORLDLY | SPOTTER | EJECTED | PULSATE
OVERBOARD | NUCLEUS | MEPHISTO | VARICELL