The instant I understood what I was seeing, something inside me changed.
The fear didn’t vanish entirely, but it softened, replaced by an unexpected wave of pity. The skink was wedged tightly in a narrow crack, its body trapped, its tail twitching with exhaustion.
It clawed weakly at the wall, clearly worn out. It wasn’t threatening me. It wasn’t invading my space.
It was stuck.
Watching it struggle was far more unsettling than the fear had been. This was no longer about danger. It was about a small living creature in distress.
Finding the Courage to Act
I hesitated.
Every instinct told me to keep my distance. But another voice, quieter and steadier, reminded me that fear doesn’t excuse doing nothing.
Carefully, with my heart pounding, I found something to gently widen the crack just enough. I moved slowly, deliberately, making sure not to hurt it or frighten it further.
The moment the skink felt the pressure release, it froze.
Completely still.
For a second, I worried I had waited too long.
Then, in a sudden burst of movement, it slipped free, dropped onto the balcony floor, and scurried away in the blink of an eye — disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
It was gone.
As if it had never been there at all.
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