I watched in awe as the enormous fly-swatter hit the poor bee, sending it plummeting onto the oak table. We are supposed to report these incidents, but I had to get out of here. So, after the huge person left, I climbed up the table.  

The dead bug lay there, lifeless. It was about as big as me. I saw the bee’s hive out the window, on the faraway oak tree. If I brought their friend back to RIP, they might let me live with them. I wrapped the bee in cloth so I could pull him along, and began my long journey to a better life.