On a summer afternoon I sat at my desk scanning job ads and wishing for rain. A bee flew through the unscreened bathroom window and buzzed past my head. He landed too near, so I rolled a magazine and poised to strike, but I couldn't do it.
by J. R. Thompson
I traded the magazine for a plastic container with a lid.
Afraid for both of us, I slammed the two pieces together, trying to capture him — to save him.
I released his two dead halves onto the ledge outside the bathroom window and returned to my desk, sweating more, still wishing for rain.