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Description
My parents moved to a development in the South, which, due to the sluggish real estate markets, record foreclosures on mortgages, and an overall hostile economy, hadn’t been developed yet.  On what used to be some generational family farmland, and bordering numerous trailer parks, this spanning potential for convenient and comfortable lakefront “community” came stocked with private lots, walls, cameras, security personnel, but best of all, an outdoor pool, protected by an electronic security gate, adorned with hundreds of sun bathing chairs and a massive triple-loop waterslide.  Even better yet, because only 22 of the over 300 prebuilt land plots had been purchased and colonized with McMansions, one would only have to share this amenity with less than seventy-five neighbors.  In fact, it was rarely used by more than one party at a time; some would even drive down only to turn around near the clubhouse and return home, to wait until they could have their privacy.
Nevertheless, this pool had a committee, mainly consisting of unhappy middle aged and middle class white women who raised their kids at home while their husbands worked and cheated on them.  These were the women who would drive down on their spare time, and call the cops on the local black and Hispanic families that would come to enjoy the warm southern weather in our pool.  Now, I say “our” pool because technically my parents were paying for it, but the only reason that I even went there in the first place was because I felt obligated to do so.  I hardly saw much of my parents; for they worked rigorously to provide the lifestyle that we were privileged to have.  Thus, I felt morally obligated to appreciate their sacrifices.  So, I went to the pool.
It was past 3 when my skateboard came roaring down the blacktop parking lot, and I was relieved to see that I was the only person that would be enjoying the pool, not out of any avoidance of my fellow humans, but because the committee women also hated seeing a long haired and pierced skateboarder invade their pool that was strait out of a good housekeeping magazine, and would give me the third degree before finally allowing me to get past the gate.   I always felt awkward riding past the Mexican immigrant workers who tended the grounds diligently everyday, I wanted to speak to them in their native language, to tell them that I was an anarchist and hated this whole system, but I knew that I was just a spoiled middle class brat, a product of that system, so I kept my gaze low in shame and rode past.
For the records, the waterslide was impressively fun, especially without the lines or unpleasant asses to occupy your field of vision as you raced to the top.  The water was cold, and there was no one to watch me, so I really could enjoy myself.   As I pulled myself out of the pool after my first time down, I noticed a moth standing precariously in the range of the torrential deluge of chemical water that came rushing out of my shorts and exploding onto the pavement.  It shuddered, but it was safe.  I made a mental note to be more careful next time.
After my second exhilarating plunge, I emerged from the water near the edge of the pool, and studied the moth, which was standing with one side visible to me, only inches away.  His powder was brown and orange, and he stared at me from that one side.  I stared back.  I knew that some would submit to the urge to crush him, as the thought crossed my mind, to exhibit the hierarchy of living beings, to feel the god-like powers of destroying something littler than they.  Who hasn’t?  But this time I didn’t, and with what resembled part curiosity, and part trust, he began to shift; he began to turn his body to show me his other side.   It took a few seconds as he limped, as the farther side of his body sagged closer to the ground, and I was instantly reminded of the hunchback from the Disney movie I used to watch.  This side had no eye, this side was disfigured, and I continued to stare.
As a boy, I used to believe that if I stared and concentrated enough on something, than I could see the more mundane microscopic details that the hastily cast glance would miss.  I stared at the moth, his empty eye socket, his weaker legs, his fine powders and hairs.  He was fair sized, as far as moths go, as far as I know, and it was incredible to me to think of how this being was able to survive in such a hostile world so long.  He was alone, he was disadvantaged, but he survived.    He was a trooper, and one that I could relate to, and I did not squish him.  Instead I went down the slide again.
As I got the next time, however, I stood and watched as the moth, inches away from me, in such a unfathomably impulsive way that only such insects are capable of, took to a unenthusiastic and turbulent flight which predictably took him only seconds to land in the pool.  I watched intrigued, as if it were a fatal car wreck, as he struggled, landing into the water, then bursting forth though without the force to clear the next wave.  A couple of times I thought he was finished, but he wouldn’t give up, bursting up again and again in spite of his obvious fatigue.
I knew that being,  life having made me recently aware of his existence, in which previously, and unbeknownst to me or anyone else, he had struggled and achieved incredible triumphs in regards to moths and survival, and he was going to die before my eyes, not minutes after me being aware of him.  Was it coincidence?   Realization of the moment finally gripped my conscious thought, and I jumped in after him, splashing him out of the water to land safely on the concrete.
He stood, surrounded by the water that would have finally ended his life, and stared at me.  So I went down the slide again.  When I reemerged, he was gone.   I knew what had happened, so I kept going down the slide, profoundly pondering the significance of this encounter, the poignancy of the moth, wondering if it had indeed been symbolic, although I already knew the answer.  There was no inherent symbolism, and it had not been for any reason that we had shared those moments of time and existence.  The meaning was what I read into it, and our encounter was nothing more than coincidence, a product of the limitless possibilities of existence.  A part of me wished to believe that it had been fate, that he had been destined by some power to reveal to me some immaculate truth, but to admit this would be to blindfold myself to the truth that I perceived all of this simply because I took the time to in the first place.  How different would it have been had I just smashed him upon first glance?
After a few more thoughtful trips down the slide, as indeed I had been prolonging the activity as an excuse to further my dwellings on the subject, I eventually saw the moth’s form beneath the water where the slide and pool met.   Caught up in the cyclical underwater tow, the relentless current animated his dead body and made it appear as though he was still flying.
In high school physics class I had learned some law requiring a balance of cause and affect, of force and counter-force.  I had impacted his life, though never changing the course it, and the least I could do is to allow him to do the same, because in the end, that is the only truth there was.

Description
My parents moved to a development in the South, which, due to the sluggish real estate markets, record foreclosures on mortgages, and an overall hostile economy, hadn’t been developed yet.  On what used to be some generational family farmland, and bordering numerous trailer parks, this spanning potential for convenient and comfortable lakefront “community” came stocked with private lots, walls, cameras, security personnel, but best of all, an outdoor pool, protected by an electronic security gate, adorned with hundreds of sun bathing chairs and a massive triple-loop waterslide.  Even better yet, because only 22 of the over 300 prebuilt land plots had been purchased and colonized with McMansions, one would only have to share this amenity with less than seventy-five neighbors.  In fact, it was rarely used by more than one party at a time; some would even drive down only to turn around near the clubhouse and return home, to wait until they could have their privacy.
Nevertheless, this pool had a committee, mainly consisting of unhappy middle aged and middle class white women who raised their kids at home while their husbands worked and cheated on them.  These were the women who would drive down on their spare time, and call the cops on the local black and Hispanic families that would come to enjoy the warm southern weather in our pool.  Now, I say “our” pool because technically my parents were paying for it, but the only reason that I even went there in the first place was because I felt obligated to do so.  I hardly saw much of my parents; for they worked rigorously to provide the lifestyle that we were privileged to have.  Thus, I felt morally obligated to appreciate their sacrifices.  So, I went to the pool.
It was past 3 when my skateboard came roaring down the blacktop parking lot, and I was relieved to see that I was the only person that would be enjoying the pool, not out of any avoidance of my fellow humans, but because the committee women also hated seeing a long haired and pierced skateboarder invade their pool that was strait out of a good housekeeping magazine, and would give me the third degree before finally allowing me to get past the gate.   I always felt awkward riding past the Mexican immigrant workers who tended the grounds diligently everyday, I wanted to speak to them in their native language, to tell them that I was an anarchist and hated this whole system, but I knew that I was just a spoiled middle class brat, a product of that system, so I kept my gaze low in shame and rode past.
For the records, the waterslide was impressively fun, especially without the lines or unpleasant asses to occupy your field of vision as you raced to the top.  The water was cold, and there was no one to watch me, so I really could enjoy myself.   As I pulled myself out of the pool after my first time down, I noticed a moth standing precariously in the range of the torrential deluge of chemical water that came rushing out of my shorts and exploding onto the pavement.  It shuddered, but it was safe.  I made a mental note to be more careful next time.
After my second exhilarating plunge, I emerged from the water near the edge of the pool, and studied the moth, which was standing with one side visible to me, only inches away.  His powder was brown and orange, and he stared at me from that one side.  I stared back.  I knew that some would submit to the urge to crush him, as the thought crossed my mind, to exhibit the hierarchy of living beings, to feel the god-like powers of destroying something littler than they.  Who hasn’t?  But this time I didn’t, and with what resembled part curiosity, and part trust, he began to shift; he began to turn his body to show me his other side.   It took a few seconds as he limped, as the farther side of his body sagged closer to the ground, and I was instantly reminded of the hunchback from the Disney movie I used to watch.  This side had no eye, this side was disfigured, and I continued to stare.
As a boy, I used to believe that if I stared and concentrated enough on something, than I could see the more mundane microscopic details that the hastily cast glance would miss.  I stared at the moth, his empty eye socket, his weaker legs, his fine powders and hairs.  He was fair sized, as far as moths go, as far as I know, and it was incredible to me to think of how this being was able to survive in such a hostile world so long.  He was alone, he was disadvantaged, but he survived.    He was a trooper, and one that I could relate to, and I did not squish him.  Instead I went down the slide again.
As I got the next time, however, I stood and watched as the moth, inches away from me, in such a unfathomably impulsive way that only such insects are capable of, took to a unenthusiastic and turbulent flight which predictably took him only seconds to land in the pool.  I watched intrigued, as if it were a fatal car wreck, as he struggled, landing into the water, then bursting forth though without the force to clear the next wave.  A couple of times I thought he was finished, but he wouldn’t give up, bursting up again and again in spite of his obvious fatigue.
I knew that being,  life having made me recently aware of his existence, in which previously, and unbeknownst to me or anyone else, he had struggled and achieved incredible triumphs in regards to moths and survival, and he was going to die before my eyes, not minutes after me being aware of him.  Was it coincidence?   Realization of the moment finally gripped my conscious thought, and I jumped in after him, splashing him out of the water to land safely on the concrete.
He stood, surrounded by the water that would have finally ended his life, and stared at me.  So I went down the slide again.  When I reemerged, he was gone.   I knew what had happened, so I kept going down the slide, profoundly pondering the significance of this encounter, the poignancy of the moth, wondering if it had indeed been symbolic, although I already knew the answer.  There was no inherent symbolism, and it had not been for any reason that we had shared those moments of time and existence.  The meaning was what I read into it, and our encounter was nothing more than coincidence, a product of the limitless possibilities of existence.  A part of me wished to believe that it had been fate, that he had been destined by some power to reveal to me some immaculate truth, but to admit this would be to blindfold myself to the truth that I perceived all of this simply because I took the time to in the first place.  How different would it have been had I just smashed him upon first glance?
After a few more thoughtful trips down the slide, as indeed I had been prolonging the activity as an excuse to further my dwellings on the subject, I eventually saw the moth’s form beneath the water where the slide and pool met.   Caught up in the cyclical underwater tow, the relentless current animated his dead body and made it appear as though he was still flying.
In high school physics class I had learned some law requiring a balance of cause and affect, of force and counter-force.  I had impacted his life, though never changing the course it, and the least I could do is to allow him to do the same, because in the end, that is the only truth there was.