A malformed cicada landed on my deck tonight. It was attracted to the light, but things must have gone astray. It buzzed and fluttered for a few seconds then hit the planks, at speed, stopped, and just laid there.
I might go over in a few minutes and see if it’s dead.
It’s got a big bloated gut, fresh exoskeleton, keeled over on its back, lamely lying there.
What a stupid life this thing has led. No sooner had it dug its way out of the ground and sure enough, no sooner was it dead.
Oh, wait a minute, it’s now up on its legs. Maybe I should go squash it, but, maybe I should let it live instead?
You stupid cicada, what’s your point?
Tomorrow you’ll be pissing down from the gum tree’s leaves, and so called “singing”, hoping to mate. Maybe you’re not so stupid after all.
But, still, I could kill you: just like that!
If I wanted to.