Of dying alone and facing past selves.

Two years after my MFA, I continue to find homes for the short stories I wrote while I was a grad student. My friends have heard me say, “This story has been rejected xyz times” often within the last two years. I’ve lost track of which publications skipped over this one…it doesn’t matter anyway, my point is that “Fireflies, Captive in Her Chest” took a while to reach the world.

Unlike the other stories I’ve talked about here, “Fireflies…” didn’t require loads of research. I didn’t dig into the archives with this one. I completed the first draft within a week, maybe even less, driven by emotions such as anger and fear. You might even feel them when you read the story.

I spent a lot of time on Tumblr when I was a teenager. It was there that I first learnt of Joyce Vincent, the young woman who passed away in her apartment and whose death went unnoticed for more than two years. Back then, there was a lot of speculation and discussion among my mutuals. I recall people sharing their theories as to why this happened. Did she not have any friends? What of her family?

Joyce Vincent was the seed but it wasn’t until 2023 that another story of a Black woman dying alone and going unnoticed pushed me to write. Sheila Seleoane wasn’t found for two and a half years after she passed. Neighbours raised concern about the smell and the maggots that infested the building. All went unnoticed. Years later, the housing association was ‘sorry’ for not having discovered her earlier. The police apologised. The world moves on.

But I remained haunted.

So, I sat down and wrote a short story about Sabitiyu—an older Yoruba woman of the generation of our grandmas—who doesn’t realise that she’s passed away. Sabitiyu is not only stuck in her house, she can’t move from the sofa. Then, the front door opens and a strange woman enters Sabitiyu’s space. I can’t reveal more because I’ve heard people don’t like spoilers.

“Fireflies…” has elements of the crushing loneliness that comes with living abroad and the horror of facing your younger self, the self that you were forced to give up due to society. I threw in details from all around me; the elderly Nigerian neighbour that a friend in London checks on often because she lives alone; the COVID pandemic; the beloved great-aunt who is said to have married a wife for her autistic son; M, whose grandmother underwent the torture of being sewn with wire after giving birth to her children and who never hesitated to tell her descendants about what she went through, the pain she felt as she aged.

This is deeply personal story. As someone enjoys my own company and space, I tend to revisit themes of aloneness and loneliness, over and over again. I transferred a lot of that energy into this story and I’m so grateful to Ianna Small and the rest of midnight & indigo’s editorial team for seeing the value in my work.

Get your copy of midnight & indigo’s Issue 15 here!