It was Saturday, and like all of the preceding Saturdays before it, Miles Gregory cleaned his apartment. For Miles, each day had a purpose, a routine, and he reserved Saturday as a day to clean. On that particular Saturday, he had been busy all morning sweeping, mopping, and organizing his small apartment. He had just begun to dust when he noticed the beetle. It was lying on its back with its hind legs wriggling in the air and its wings fluttering against the wood attempting to flip itself over. Miles, disgusted by the filthy creature, grabbed a book off the shelf in order to swat the beetle dead, but Miles found a twinge of guilt building inside of him and he lowered the book down to his side. He stared at the beetle, which was still struggling to free itself from its own bodily structure. He flipped the beetle over and watched it scurry away.