A Bug’s Life

by thoughtsatlarge

I saw a bug yesterday, a beetle actually.  It was in the parking garage attached to my building at work.  It was black and shiny, almost iridescent, about an inch long.  It lay on its back, legs flailing helplessly, trying to right itself.  I flashed my badge at the sensor on the door and walked by, my morning coffee in one hand, my lunch bag and computer bag in the other.  It was 7:15 AM.  At 5:30 PM, pleased with the day’s accomplishments and eager to get home, dreading the hour commute, but looking forward to seeing my wife and dog, I left the building and walked to the garage.  There, in the same spot I had seen it earlier in the day; lay the beetle, now motionless.  It was dead.  Why had I not helped it?  Why did I feel guilty?  It was only a bug.  I had stepped on, swatted at or killed hundreds of bugs in my lifetime. Why did I feel guilty?   As I walked into work this morning, I looked for the beetle, half hoping not to see it.  Why does it still bother me?

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