A conversation over a mere insect
A tiny bug landed on Lydia’s hand. Oh, how its little wings waving like those flowers dancing beneath her feet, adorable! To the point, the girl couldn’t take her eyes away from that small creature that is crawling on her finger, sometimes - she flips it back to her palm.
Oh, Lydia wonders if it has to spend many times to crawl back? Those petite legs just wiggling around non-stop as it crawls up to half of any fingers, Lydia’d just flip it back to the old, same spot. Just like so, in order to see it’d become tired then lay in the middle of her hand.
Out of the blue, there is a shadow blocked through her hovering frame, Lydia gazes up - the “o” shaped mouth of Henry is the first thing she sees, then his lifeless eyes that are keen on the bug in his sister’s hand. Henry soon rose straight up and spoke:
“- What are you doing?”
“- Nothing, and it’s nothing for you to see.”
But once she’d finished, Lydia almost forgot her brother is a kid with a head that’s tougher than rock. So when the boy leaned his smelly head near, she quickly pushed him away and hand in hand to shield the insect from her sly brother:
“- I’ve told you, there’s nothing to see!”
“- No! I do see there’s something in your hand!” - Henry insisted, “Why do you always cling to it? It’s just a bug!”
“- Yes, because it is a bug; therefore, you can’t see it, only I can!”
So Henry exhaled in a sulking manner, his arms folded in front of his chest and furrowed his brows annoyingly:
“- If you keep doing so, it may not last long.”
“- What do you mean?” - Lydia replied, though her eyes remained still at the insect.
“- You always do it! Push, keep it forever, why don’t you release it?”
“- Because it’s a bug, even if I’d release it then other children would find it - I’m sure they’d taken care of it better - and even if not the other children, then the birds, the bigger bugs would eat it!”
“- Then why don’t you eat it?”
That statement from Henry soon made Lydia froze in surprise, she took a long minute to turn her head back at Henry with scolding eyes:
“- How could I? If it died, I’d have nothing else to play with!”
“- But it’s better than living like that, you know? Wandering around in your palm, it’d soon find a way to escape, or hurt you, or hurt itself. Consequently, isn’t it much better to let it go? After all, it’s still just a bug! A teensy-weensy bug also wants to grow up!”
Once finished, Henry suddenly heard a barking from miles away. He immediately hurried over to the direction of that sound. As for Lydia, the child remained still under the tree, still holding the bug in her hands. Then, Lydia began to fall into her mind about what Henry’d said. Sure - the bug, although small, it still has its own ambition to wander somewhere among the lush branches, among the thick grass to live and grow into other bugs - bigger, stronger. However, what about Lydia? She also lives freely, plays outside on the green grass and grows like a normal kid; yet, she doesn’t become any stronger. So does Henry, so does her family. Nothing would change if she let it go. Regardless of whether she did so, what would it be?
So she keeps thinking, thinking forever. The train of thoughts ran through her mind and she lingered her eyes on the insect. It’s so tiny, so hopeless, what would happen to it if she releases it? And she doesn’t find an appropriate answer for herself, as her fingers slowly curl into her palm. Squeezes the bug tightly, so tight that the shape of her fingernails printed on the ruddy skin as it experiences the bug’s taste - wailing and crying - until what’s left of it - is flat and cold.
