Killing days-- a memory of death

    I was removing weeds in my garden over the summer, and saw a beetle deer flying over my head. Happy that I was not alone, and that such a majestic creature came into my space...

    It wasn't always like that, though. There was a time, called innocence, when I would kill such creatures. Cold blooded, ruthlessly... I should not be amazed by any nowadays crimes... To kill a creature... it does not matter at this point if it's a human being or an animal, it is a being that has all rights to live and enjoy life, long or short.

    I was building an insect collection for my biology class, back in sixth grade or something, and was thrilled with the project. Hanged out in the fields anyway during summer break, so why not do something like gathering insects, arrange them nicely in a box, and have them shown...? My grandfather got involved too, and came one time with a large beetle deer with spectacular antlers that he found around the house.

    "Wow... that's huge... an amazing addition..."

    I had to find a larger bowl, and it was a crystal candies keeper... I poured alcohol and dropped the creature inside and put the lid on. This is the most painful memory of those days, to watch how the animal  desperately fought for life about an hour or so, occasionally moving the lid since it was such a large specimen, and eventually succumbed to death... How come was I not  moved by its struggle...? I believe, a sense of guilt lingered in me while watching the poor creature, wanting the ordeal to be over sooner, but I still chose death for my own purposes, rather than life...

    It hurts me now to remember myself as a promoter of destruction of life and beauty. But love and gentleness are learned, and I came out of killing days like flowers from concrete cracks in the spring. Today, I have a hard time killing a fly or a cockroach that enters my kitchen, while killing a fowl to eat is out of the question, no matter if my hands are involved or not...