My, My, Little Firefly

By Dylan Fox

On Minas, jobs are created to fulfil people. Each colonist has a shard, a unique talent which gives them a rush of endorphins to practice. The native 'fireflies' constantly encroach on the colony, and it's Gal's job--her shard--to keep them at bay.

Until her shard snaps. No place in the world, no rush of endorphins. Is Gal's salvation at the end of the world, or is it closer to home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dylan Fox
• Release date: Jan 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301239139

Dylan Fox

Dylan is a short fiction writer living in North East Wales. His work has been published by Twenty or Less Press, Vagrants Among Ruins, Encounters Magazine and others. He graduated with a degree in English Literature with Creative Writing, and dutifully fulfilled the stereotype by working in KFC for eighteen months. He is now a receptionist in the NHS.

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My, My, Little Firefly

By Dylan Fox

Copyright 2013 Dylan Fox

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My, My, Little Firefly

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Finding Dylan

My, My, Little Firefly

My shard snapped as definitely as the thump-thump-thump of the turbine blades beating above my head. The crimson twilight jungle stretched beneath me, a vast welcoming mat which beckoned me in with the faint, alluring lights of the fireflies. It promised an end to my sudden emptiness. I shuffled to the edge of the platform, pressed my palms against its cold metal, let my legs dangle over the jungle and held on with the last few inches of thigh. I sat beneath the roof of red clouds that never parted, and above the gentle glow the arc lights which gave our colony light, gave us night and day, regularity and meaning. It was a long way down to the jungle.

I don't see why you grew that fucking tree anyway, Kay said, a man fifteen years my senior with red skin hardened like a crustacean’s shell. He used his body like most people use tonal inflections, and the platform moved as his arms and fingers and eyebrows gesticulated. Fucking motleys. Give me the fucking creeps.

I couldn't turn to face him. My shard had snapped. Broken pieces fell through my cognitive space, through every thought and memory and limb and cell I possessed. My legs twitched like Kay's gesticulating fingers. Tears formed in my eyes and pooled in the bottom of my goggles. The wind pushed me towards the jungle canopy, then pulled me back.

Kay quickly and skilfully tucked the butt of his rifle into the flesh of his shoulder, sighted, and shot at the pale