I couldn't very well take the bird with me to class

Human Sexuality class started every Friday at 8:30 am. The hour, though brutal, wasn't as bad as it could have been, since I was also working third shift and so I was up anyway.

One Friday, I drove to class prepared to take an exam. Having no coins to put in the meter, I went to the change machine in the parking structure. When I tried to get back into my car, I found that I had foolishly locked the door. To add to my woes, she was still running.

Fortunately, my window was still open. Unfortunately, it was not open wide enough for me to get my arm through in order to unlock the door. I kept a spare set of keys in my jacket pocket; unwisely, I had been running the heater and had doffed said jacket.

Thinking quickly, I spied a pile of sticks nearby. Sadly, the only sticks which were long enough to reach my jacket in the passenger seat were also so fragile that they broke under the weight of it.

I started looking around for options; I had an exam to take, blast it! There was a small stand of trees near the parking structure, so I went there and found a couple of likely-looking candidates from among the fallen branches there. I went back and to my great relief, the first branch I tried did the trick. I manipulated my jacket until the pocket was directly at the crack in the window, and got my keys.

I hurried to the building where the exam was already in progress. As I reached for the door, something fell directly in front of me. I looked down and saw that it was a young bird of all things, writhing in pain. I had no clue as to what I ought to do. I couldn't very well take the bird with me to class, and if I left it there, something dire might happen to it.

I picked it up and began pacing on the sidewalk, wondering what I was going to do, and whether I was going to pass the exam which now must have been almost half over. Was there some "bird hospital" where I might take it? Should I bring it home and make a little nest for it? What would I do when I left to spend the weekend up north at my parents' house?

As I stood there, I felt a sudden motion as the bird leapt from my hand and dove headfirst onto the pavement. I picked it up and noticed that its neck was probably broken, since its head rolled freely. The bird was now motionless.

What to do now? I felt somehow responsible for the bird at this point, and I couldn't in good conscience just leave it where I found it. I couldn't throw it in the trash. Was there a "bird cemetery" somewhere, near my imagined "bird hospital," perhaps? Would I be able to take my accursed exam?

As I pondered what I should do, it began raining. Lovely. After a few minutes of getting soaked, I remembered the small stand of trees. I went there and decided to bury it in that spot. Then I began wondering whether the bird was really dead. Perhaps it was merely unconscious. Should I risk adding to the register of my sins that I had buried an innocent bird alive?

With these considerations in mind, I took out my pocket knife and decapitated the bird. There was very little blood, which reassured me.

I buried the bird, hoping no one was watching, and went to take the exam.

The professor looked askance at my tardy arrival; what could I tell him? "I just slept in a bit...sorry," I said sheepishly.