The cricket chirps alone

It's only been a few days, but it's another bug-related post.  A cricket is trapped in the elevator shaft of my building, which is located on the other side of the wall my headboard is against. 

The good news is that the stairwell between us eats the sound of the cricket. 

The bad news is that I don't think the poor thing can get out. 

If bugs can be scared, I think it is, what with the random coming and going of the elevator and the footsteps and doors slamming and darkness.  If bugs can be confused, I think it is because it's started singing in the daytime because no daylight gets to it, so it sings when it's awake and in the dark.


Anthropomorphizing is a wonderful thing because it means I can think stuff like this and not have to actually cry for the bug because it is a bug and has a tiny bug mind and doesn't think about this stuff at all; I'm the one bringing the sadness to the table here.

The chirping makes me sad because it's pointless because no mate can hear it or get to it and because eventually the chirping will stop because the poor thing died alone.  But I feel sort of guiltily encouraged, too, because with all that, it still sings. 

Somehow, I don't think this would make a good children's book . . .