I had to run across the street to make a delivery, but I noticed her as I went by. I could tell by looking at her that she was old, for a bee. The hair had worn off of her back, her wings were tattered around the edges. She was sitting on the stairs in front of the building at work. She moved a little as I passed, so I knew she was alive, but I didn’t think she’d be making it back to the hive.
I paused briefly, but I needed to make my delivery before everyone left for the day.
On the way back I stopped and picked up a leaf, nudged it under her and set her on a bush in the planter. Maybe I did her no favors. A lingering death clinging to a leaf or one swift squash from the foot an oblivious passerby. I don’t know.