A Honeybee

I just returned from the Vishwanath temple, Varanasi, after the evening aarti, just before the aarti started. I was just walking forward when a honeybee, which was sliding on the marble floor, came under my left foot. As I kept my foot on it, I felt something under my foot and instantly lifted my foot to discover that it did not die, but was half dead. I was perpetually looking towards the bee while it was flapping its wings hard, the speed of which slowly diminished as it perished. Now, all the time, there was a thought in my mind. Whether it was more cruel of me to not kill it and suffer the pain I caused it, or it would be more cruel of me to have just killed it the moment it came under my foot.
If I killed it just as I saw it was half dead, how bad would that make me feel about myself? I would pity myself for being so inhumane and vicious. But when I saw it slowly reaching its death, I realized that I had already killed it and am just being an audience for the death I caused it, and not just death, but a slow, tiring, painful death, the kind where you are sure about your death, but you are still suffering because you just don’t know when you will die.
The bee sadly would never get the answer to a question which can be called a signature line for every being in pain, “Why is it happening to me? Why should someone do that to me?”. In this scenario, as in every other, the reason for someone’s pain was just a mute spectator of this question.
How shockingly traumatic would that have been for the bee? Now, if I killed it immediately, she would die a less painful death, but my mind would have probably killed myself with the question, “What if it survived?”. So basically, it was just me not trying to cause pain to myself, as selfish as every person on this earth. Because if I cared for the bee more than my own peace of mind, I would have killed it, saving it from the deadly pain I mistakenly caused it. It would be a noble thing to do, or would it be a heartless sin? Isn’t everything we do just purely out of selfishness? That is probably the reason I am writing this, to make up for a life I took. Was it just a mistake, or as they say, it was destined to happen, just like everything is, even me being such an overthinker.