Under Your Feet

“I killed it. It was very clear. No doubt, no mistake. I killed a living being. “

It started off as a good day. I was coming home from orchestra rehearsal. The weather was sunny, warm, and bright. I dreamily watched the land fly past me in a blur as I gazed out of the window. My mom was driving the car then, and suggested to me that I go play at the park. Deciding that it was a good day, I agreed and went to the park as soon as I arrived at home.

Now, I normally go the park laden with equipment to facilitate fun. This occasion was no exception. I gathered my weapons: the kite, the ball, and the Frisbee. There is a park right next to my house. It is gigantic, lined with a double row of monumental trees lining its perimeter. A fond pastime is running in-between the two rows of trees, around the entire park. During the months of autumn, bright leaves, vivid in dying colors floated gently to the ground. I would often stop to think what it would be like to be a leaf. Living for the few short months that nature permitted, then falling, dying is a swirl of grace and beauty with all of the others. How strange it must be to give people joy as you die, observing your beautiful appearance.

Occasionally, when the weather permitted, I flew my kite. It was bigger than I, its sweeping fabric reaching up beyond my head. I loosened my grip, and let it soar through the sky, tethered only by the singular string, anchoring it to the ground, I found myself thinking about how similar the life of a kite can be to our own. Free to fly the skies, free to roam, always tethered, always restricted. We are free people bound by the laws that govern us.

As I ran around the park, dragging the stubborn and resistant kite as it buffeted in the wind, I heard and felt an odd squelch. The grass was very smooth and dry, so I noticed it immediately. As I leaned closer to inspect, the kite still urging me onwards, I noticed a small grey smear on a patch of grass. Kneeling down for a closer inspection revealed a grotesque sight. The head of a cockroach atop a puddle of grey slush across several blades of grass like chocolate fudge spread over a waffle.

My head started to pound, my heart began to race. What if someone found out that I had committed murder? What if I got sent to jail? These thoughts dashed through my head. As I ran back home, the only thing I could think of was, “I killed it. It was very clear. No doubt, no mistake. I killed a living being.”