broken bee

One warm October afternoon, a honey bee fell in love with our apricot jam. The jar rested on a table outside, and the bee crawled its way into the small gap between the metal lid and the serving spoon. I grabbed a butter knife and attempted to block his entry, but instead poked him in the back of the neck, forcing him further into the jar. I then removed the lid, to which the bee was attached, and placed it upside down on the table. Satisfied with what I thought was saving a life of nature, I attended to my duties and forgot about the bee. Twenty minutes later, I returned to the table and found the bee upside down with its wings glued to the inside of the lid with apricot glaze. Its legs were clawing at the air. I took the same butter knife as before and tried to scrape him off of the lid without damaging his wings. Even if I freed the bee, I thought, his wings would be covered in jam, surely suppressing any chance of flight. Can bees clean their wings like cats clean their paws? Placing the knife blade underneath his body, I pried him off of the lid and placed him on the table. The bee was in a sorry state. Hunched over and without the use of his long left leg, he twitched his remaining limbs in a futile attempt to remedy his ailments. I gently prodded him with the knife in case all he needed was a jump start, but his injuries were severe. How did he get so broken? Was it the struggle to escape the jam? Was it the trauma of being freed by a butter knife? Or was it that initial poke to the back of the neck, severing a hidden nerve and rendering him paralyzed? While reflecting on the causality of the bee’s plight, I accidentally dropped the knife and it landed right on the insect’s back. Oh boy. My interaction has gone too far; I’ll give it some time to recover on its own… if it can. Fifteen minutes later, the bee was in the same miserable state. I swiftly scraped him off of the table with the butter knife. My left leg went up then swiping down to the pavement with an exceeding amount of force. I disintegrated the bee into the red bricks of the patio. I felt finality in the act, knowing that an abrupt release from suffering was the most I could give to such a victim of fate.