Memories

I never squash bugs or anything else if I can help it. I did once when I was about 6 or 7, I was watching this bug on a metal bollard. Running around erratically on the bulbous head of the bollard doing whatever bugs do. What was it doing? I stood, fascinated for what seemed like ages watching it closely. It was tiny less than ½ cm in diameter, but I didn’t know that word back then, it was black but rainbow like as it moved, it looked shiny and hard-even compared with the bollard. I wanted to see its face and count its legs but they were hidden underneath. I wanted to pick it up, have a look and let it run over my hand but I was afraid that it might bite me. It didn’t have wings just this petrol-metallic dome for a body. I wondered if it would make a noise if I crushed it and some part of me if I could crush it at all. So I did. With the blunt end of a pencil. I could, it made a soft crunch sound. I didn’t have the forethought but only then realised I hadn’t just made a noise, I had killed it, I couldn’t piece it back together and let it go. That it was final. (for the bug at any rate) and I had caused it. I felt enough guilt and sorrow in that moment to remember the event with such clarity today. I lifted the pencil toward me I saw what was left of the bug and realised I still couldn’t see its face or count its legs. So I wiped the bug mush onto the bollard put the pencil in my pocket and ran to catch up with the rest of the crowd that were on their way to school.