I had a strange but oddly interesting dream today, or yesterday.

I was lying on a patch of soft green grass, doing photosynthesis. The air was still—quiet enough to hear my own breathing. Then, out of nowhere, a duck appeared beside me.

Startled, I reacted without thinking. My hand moved on instinct—a flash of motion, a dagger through the air—and before I could even process what happened, the duck lay still–dead :((.

My chest tightened as I tried to steady my breathing. The rush of adrenaline faded, replaced by an ache I couldn’t quite name. Then, from the edge of the clearing, a tiny baby duck waddled into view. It chirped softly, looking at me—or maybe at the motionless body beside me. That’s when I realized what I’d done: I had killed its mother.

I looked around, searching for some way to make it right. A few feet away, another duck slept peacefully, surrounded by a small cluster of ducklings. Carefully, I lifted the orphaned baby and carried it over.

When I placed it among the others, the little one nestled in as if it had always belonged there. The sleeping duck stirred, glanced at the new arrival, and settled back down, accepting it without hesitation.

I stood there for a moment, watching them.

I have killed a piece of myself.