It was so tiny, almost the size of a tiny toy, but it was there. It existed simply and delicately. It’s teeniness brought tears to my eyes knowing that our God above thought to create it. Against the black carpet of the laundromat I’d inherited from my late Grandfather only a few months ago, it stuck out like a beam of light. I could even see every one of its toes. It didn’t move unless I did, probably just as stunned by another being in its presence. 

I was at a loss. I couldn’t murder a vulnerable creature, but I certainly didn’t want vermin in my building for another moment longer either. Being equally fascinating and disgusting, it was a unique predicament.

With no other tools at my disposal other than every item in the large building I was standing in, I grabbed the old metal teal broom, bristles splayed out like a Thanksgiving turkey, and ready to do the bidding of whoever wielded it.

I attempted to scoot the lizard towards the door with the broom, but it scurried away so suddenly that I yelped in a bout of surprise.

I quickly located it nearby. I leaned down to gaze into its mustard seed-sized eyeball while it blinked. I doubt it had any idea of its purpose in this world. I held out my pinkie finger, realizing its similarity in size. 

I straightened, mind fogged with no other solutions, and tried to scoot it with the broom again, willing my crappy solution to be successful.

As I pulled back the broom, I realized in horror that I’d dismembered one of the lizard’s legs from its body. I felt blood drain from my face at my own monstrosity, self-hatred replacing it.

“Failure,” I internalized. Panic began welling up inside my chest while tears began filling my eyes.

The lizard wiggled around in desperation, it’s tail whipping about so quickly its tapered end almost invisible.

I had to end its misery. Surely something so small couldn’t survive with only three legs. And even if it could survive, could it truly live? Could it thrive? Could it find meaning, happiness, love?

Knowing what I had to do but barely harnessing the strength to do it, I brought the broom down forcefully on the lizard, over and over again. I could’ve sworn I disconnected from my body.

I mourned its death while painfully, loosely grasping the actions of my cowardly hands. I choked a sob while tears free-flowed, a stream of shame and stupidity at my (what I would realize a few days later) unnecessary mercy killing, down my face. I held that face in those cowardly hands and prayed no one walked into the laundromat to witness my unprofessional display of emotion.

I was but a shell the remainder of that day, a shell like the mangled body of the lizard.

A few days later…

A few days afterward sat another lizard on that black carpet, so similar to the one before. This time I placed a piece of printer paper next to it, giving it a platform to be carried outside upon.

“Survive. Live. Live for your brother who couldn’t,” I said quietly to it, redemption washing over me like a balm.

[Inspired by true events.]