The Word B

the other day i was mowing the lawn. at one point, i had to move a table, in order to cut the grass beneath it. on the top of the table wsa a large potted cactus plant. i went to pick up and half slide this pot off the table top. in doing so i realized that i had killed this tiny little lizard that was hiding out underneath the pot. upon closer inspection, i noticed that it had been a pretty quick kill because the pot had crushed in the lizard's head and snapped it's spine at the base of the skull. at first i was shocked and half repulsed by what i had done. yet, i figured the damage was already done, and the little critter was already dead. what i did find most fascinating was the death throws of the lizard. i could see the muscles still twitching throughout it's body- the feet were still running, the chest was still rising and falling as if the lungs were still struggling to breath, and the heart was still pounding, as well as the tail was violently twitching. i decided to pick up this small thing, put it into my hand, and have a closer look at this final act of death. i was totally mesmerized by the little lizard. during the two minutes or so that it took to finally cease in it's twitchings, i wandered off in thought to all the other instances in my life when i have witnessed death first hand (no pun intended).
the most obvious memories were of fish flopping around after being caught. i know i have killed hundred if not thousand of insects, a few birds, a few rabbits, and even shot a few kangaroos. all of which i have watched in the final moments, as the life ebbs from the bodies. with human beings, i have been witness to a few deaths, mainly while working as an ambulance officer, when arriving at the scenes of car wrecks where bodies are severely mangled, suicides, and heart attacks. there was a lot less twitching from the latter two. i have been present to a number of funerals with open caskets, but those are just not the same thing. the rawness from the open act of dying is somehow missing and covered up, as if there is this pretense that being dead is just not acceptable.
it was with these thoughts that i watched the lizard give out in it's final spasms. afterwards, i dug a small little hole in the yard and buried the lizard into the dirt. it was my symbolic gesture of gratitude, since i was able to share in it's death, even though i was the (unintentional) cause of death. normally, i would have just cast the thing aside and kept on mowing. ironically, when i returned to move the table, i noticed the place whence i had removed the pot, there was a perfect mould of the skin the lizard has just shed, stuck to the top side of the table. i also had to wipe the small spot of red blood from my hand. then i went back to mowing the grass.