Maybe it wasn’t the hours, but the minutes, but those moments that died were very long for us. A few days later the butterflies lost their beauty by sticking to our fingers the colourful powders of the wings and we threw our collections into the trash. There was a little girl among us who we thought was benevolent. He used to run away when he saw us sneaking around with animals. We once tied a beetle to his jacket and he didn't realize it until he put it on. He didn't yell at us. He carefully removed the needle and buried the Xomorphic, penitent. I don’t know when he lost that instinct of not being able to suffer the suffering of others. What narcotized her, but that girl doesn't suffer the same way. In any case, I’m sure we’ve got that day stuck in our memory.