The other day, I was waiting for the bus and I saw an earthworm by the side of the road. It was struggling to get somewhere moist and dark, but presently was covered in dry dirt and grit. I wanted to lean over, pick it up and fling it into the grass. But standing there was that guy with the long black braids and the eyeshadow and the combat boots. I would have felt self-conscious picking up a dirty worm in front of him.
And then I saw the bus coming toward me. It was a moment of crisis. Should I pick it up? Would it get run over by the bus? Maybe the bus would just narrowly miss it and the worm would have a chance.
It was agonizing, because the bus kept getting closer and the earthworm was still nowhere near the edge of the curb. And then it was too late! The bus was there and its wheel had stopped right before the worm.
As I climbed up the stairs, I knew that I was witnessing the worm's last moments. It would soon cease to struggle.
I don't know why I feel guilty about stuff like that. One time, there was a guy sitting in front of me on the bus and he had a bug crawling around on the back of his jacket. I wanted to say something, but somehow I felt weird about saying, "there's a bug on your jacket," and touching him to flick it off. So I just sat there and watched it crawl around. It was a harmless little bug, not like a bee or a brown recluse spider.
I saw the guy the next day on the bus again and I still felt bad about it.
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