The thoughts that go through your head before you commit murder

Today my dad came home from work and excitedly handed me a large, clear, plastic container with air holes in the top. Inside was the prize of my insect collection. I was amazed at this critter's size, with a wingspan equal to the distance from my thumb-tip to pinky-tip as I gestured to him, “Hang loose!” Immediately upon seeing him I began vacillating about my initial intent to freeze him in all his beauty forever.

At my mother's suggestion, I decided to check whether he was endangered or not before making my decision. I Googled large moths until we came across the portraits of his family members. He is commonly known as a Black Witch moth, or by the superstitious of Hispanic descent, “Mariposa de la Muerte” aka the butterfly of death. I also learned that he was not an endangered species. So I was clear right? There were plenty more of them in the world. And it's not like murdering moths was new to me. I'd killed hundreds of bugs already for my entomology class last fall. Maybe I was losing my bug hunting touch, but then again, I froze a grasshopper just yesterday. So why couldn't I kill this one?

Well, he had soulful eyes, which upon gazing into I could not extinguish without feeling I was being disrespectful. And he was deserving of my respect.

His size (7 inches- large for even his kind) and his scars (large pieces of his hind wings were evidently missing) showed that he was superior not just in beauty within the insect world, but in prowess. His stillness within his plastic cage witnessed of his weariness. I felt his fear.

My greed could hardly compete with my guilt this time.

I wanted him, I really did.

Then I set him free.