Meeting Mr. Beetle
Meet Mr. Beetle.
I ain't sure whether he's even male but I just presumed so.
Not like a cockroach at all.
It's black and ginormous. Gigantic. Massive. About 3/4 the size of my entire palm.
How I met Mr. Beetle?
In the air, from the sky. The crackle of dirty white plastic alerting me to Mr. Beetle's presence.
At first alarmed by it's size and it's color, my eyes attuned to it's head. Little horns emerging from it. Definitely not a cockroach. Phew.
Mr. Beetle was struggling.
Beneath him was my goal. The water pitchers. Nonetheless, covered, I was worried as to what to do. Leaving Mr. Beetle alone for a minute, I sprinted up the stairs to my dad. "Leave it alone," or, "Put it outside," he said.
Put it outside? The house alarm was turned on and I had no idea what did or would not trigger it.
Mr. Beetle was down by the pitchers.
Not in them but around them. Poor Mr. Beetle! Falling from such a height.
I immediately move the nearest trays, other than the one he is beneath.
Immediately I notice how Mr. Beetle crawls to side edgings of the steel tray that holds the pitchers. It's heading and only moves beneath cover. Shade. That meant, the Dark.
What to do with Mr. Beetle?
I never directly touch an insect, especially not big ones.
I quickly get mandarin newspapers to create more shade on the bench. Then, I step back and watch. Mr. Beetle crawls it's way onto the paper. I feel it tearing because of his weight and movement. I was right. Mr. Beetle likes the darkness.
I keep staring only to see Mr. Beetle disappear beneath the layers but I hear the paper cracking.
If Mr. Beetle stayed on the bench, he was doomed. Poor Mr. Beetle would not make it.
So I grab more newspaper to try and lift him by. I place Mr. Beetle who was somewhere in the huge pile of scrunched up large sheets of newspaper, beneath a chair on the floor.
"Mr. Beetle? Mr. Beetle? Mr. Beetle?" I cry out.
No sound.
Did I kill Mr. Beetle by accident?
I spend a while trying to figure that out while searching for paper to write a sign with to no avail.
Even my grandpa was stirring.
Only then does my dad come. Almost immediately lifting the pile of newspaper I pointed out. o_o I think he just might have killed Mr. Beetle since he scrunched the paper up more than I would have liked. I'll check tomorrow.
Hopefully Mr. Beetle is alright.
He is liked.
Logging off,
Evelyn Wong
I ain't sure whether he's even male but I just presumed so.
Not like a cockroach at all.
It's black and ginormous. Gigantic. Massive. About 3/4 the size of my entire palm.
How I met Mr. Beetle?
In the air, from the sky. The crackle of dirty white plastic alerting me to Mr. Beetle's presence.
At first alarmed by it's size and it's color, my eyes attuned to it's head. Little horns emerging from it. Definitely not a cockroach. Phew.
Mr. Beetle was struggling.
Beneath him was my goal. The water pitchers. Nonetheless, covered, I was worried as to what to do. Leaving Mr. Beetle alone for a minute, I sprinted up the stairs to my dad. "Leave it alone," or, "Put it outside," he said.
Put it outside? The house alarm was turned on and I had no idea what did or would not trigger it.
Mr. Beetle was down by the pitchers.
Not in them but around them. Poor Mr. Beetle! Falling from such a height.
I immediately move the nearest trays, other than the one he is beneath.
Immediately I notice how Mr. Beetle crawls to side edgings of the steel tray that holds the pitchers. It's heading and only moves beneath cover. Shade. That meant, the Dark.
What to do with Mr. Beetle?
I never directly touch an insect, especially not big ones.
I quickly get mandarin newspapers to create more shade on the bench. Then, I step back and watch. Mr. Beetle crawls it's way onto the paper. I feel it tearing because of his weight and movement. I was right. Mr. Beetle likes the darkness.
I keep staring only to see Mr. Beetle disappear beneath the layers but I hear the paper cracking.
If Mr. Beetle stayed on the bench, he was doomed. Poor Mr. Beetle would not make it.
So I grab more newspaper to try and lift him by. I place Mr. Beetle who was somewhere in the huge pile of scrunched up large sheets of newspaper, beneath a chair on the floor.
"Mr. Beetle? Mr. Beetle? Mr. Beetle?" I cry out.
No sound.
Did I kill Mr. Beetle by accident?
I spend a while trying to figure that out while searching for paper to write a sign with to no avail.
Even my grandpa was stirring.
Only then does my dad come. Almost immediately lifting the pile of newspaper I pointed out. o_o I think he just might have killed Mr. Beetle since he scrunched the paper up more than I would have liked. I'll check tomorrow.
Hopefully Mr. Beetle is alright.
He is liked.
Logging off,
Evelyn Wong
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