Danny Fekete is studying education at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, appropriately. 
Memory Dump into Log File
A large fly that was buzzing around the room in which I’ve been doing my reading suddenly fell down and landed on the couch across from me with an audible thud. Here’s my brain:
- That was a weird noise; was that the fly?
- It was! Must’ve been massive to make that noise.
- If it’s dead, it won’t distract me anymore; I wonder what happened to it.
- Oh no—it’s injured, poor thing. One of its wings is bent up and it’s trying to straighten it out but it can’t.
- I should kill it. It’s a broken machine that can’t be repaired.
- It’s wandering around trying to fix its wing—I wonder if it perceives pain in the way I do, or maybe if the confusion I ascribe to its movements is because it’s stuck in a self-repair loop with a component that won’t cooperate and behave the way the entire machine is programmed to. Is it capable of confusion or shock in any sense that I’d recognize, or is this all anthropomorphization?
- There must be someone who could fix that wing for it. There’s probably not much call for reconstructive chitinous wing surgery in veterinary practice, but there are specialists in all kinds of insects, anatomy, flight mechanics, microsurgery; has anyone ever, in the history of the world, tried to repair the broken wing of a living fly?
- I wonder how long it’ll live like this. Will it starve before it’s eaten? This is the first insect I’ve seen inside the cottage since I got up here; it’ll probably starve. I should kill it.
- I can’t kill it. I’m a coward in the face of my considered morality.
- Where’s it gone? It’s been crawling around on the couch for more than five minutes; maybe it’s between the cushion and the armrest. I hope nobody finds it dead later—it’s a big fly.
- Huh: there it is, and it’s fixed itself. Oh, it’s a little beetle!
- Shit, I hope it’s not a cockroach.
(Edit: It was an assassin bug!)