The Boy Who Captured the Muse

It was a brisk September early evening. The sun grew tired as mist played along the blades of grass. Smells of burning wood and grilling flirted amongst the breeze. Dinner in his belly, a young boy grew eager. No, not for dessert, but for the chance that his father might take him out to catch fireflies.

As his mother nodded with a warm adventurous smile, his father grabbed a coat and hat for his boy and a matching set for himself.

On the shelf in the kitchen next to the paper hats, macaroni art, and crafted magic wands stood proudly a well-worn jar. This mason jar had a lid with holes eagerly jabbed into it and the dirty fingerprints could only add character.

Hat falling off and jacket half on, the boy with his jar ran ahead for the door. Now with his adventure under way the hunt for the perfect firefly could begin.

Down by the meadow under the protection of the great weeping willow lay a stump of wood. Two worn down spots where the boy and father would sit beckoned them to rest and await what would happen as soon as the sun went to bed.

Only but a moment were the father and boy engulfed in darkness, and the silence was loud with anticipation. It felt like an eternity until the fireflies flew.

The father still had his jar from his childhood and the wrinkles around his eyes were the badges of honor left from countless nights like this.

The boy was off; jar in hand as the father patiently sat with nostalgia and glee.

Over and under leaves and branches, they the fireflies flew and darted. But tonight another glowing light decided to dance among them.

A rare being of creativity and inspiration. The muse to the human eye danced along the sky quite easily mistaken for a firefly. The closer you looked; the muse resembled a handsome prince. Laugh, did the muse as he flew over, sideways, and up-ways. Joy filled his heart for inspiring the world.

Clump! With a light sounding thud, the boy checked his jar and noticed that inside was a flickering light. With unbridled glory and unabashed laughter the boy ran to his father to show off what he caught.

As he stared longingly into his son’s jar, you could see the reflection of the successful vessel in the glossy pride of the father’s eyes.

The muse from inside the jar saw the glee in the eyes in his human captors. So he decided to play along and be patient. The boy opened the jar and the muse gave him a kiss on the cheek and flew with his ferry light around and around. The boy got so dizzy that he fell to the ground.

The boy and his father ran off back home; a bath and a warm cup of milk sent the boy to bed.

Within his dreams shown a handsome young man whose heart was pure and eyes all the more. This man whose face was adolescent, heroic, and true spoke within the dream of love.

Emrys was the name of the young man in the dream. He would speak of inspiration, bravery, and kindness; smiling all the while. Emrys spoke of the limitlessness of love and the journeys one must endure to find it. Hand and hand the boy and the prince danced among a field of clover.

When the boy awoke he ran for his jar and still in his pajamas he ran to the meadow. The sun was not yet awake, and the fireflies still played.

The boy again captured the muse in his jar. With more caution and curiosity the boy sat on the log and inspected his jar.

Into the boys eyes stared the muse. The handsome face of the muse matched the young prince of the boy’s dream. With shock and in silent disbelief the boy released the muse and ran back home and knew not what to say.

That very night it happened again in precisely the same order of events. Yet, the boy noticed that it grew more and more difficult to release the muse Emrys.

“This is not my world boy. You must bid me my leave. Though you will miss me, and likely will never forget me, please again release me.”

The muse spoke the truth though the boy with equal parts confusion and sadness knew he must acquiesce. Opened the jar the boy did with tears streaming down his face. It always hurts to say goodbye.

The muse called Emrys flew up and away, and the boy then sat solemnly solitary. With every passing moment the loneliness became more and more real. The fireflies still fly by the same meadow to this day and the boy now a man still visits. Though he never spoke a word of Emrys, he will always remember the autumn he captured the muse.

Published by m.d.smith

An aspiring writer with a love for fantasy-filled adventurous journeys.

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