I accidentally unalived my neighbor’s beloved gerbil and sent it to heaven via helium balloon.

I just unalived my neighbour's gerbil, but they don't know it yet. I was trying to do a favour, as their gerbil had escaped its cage and scurried into the crevice of my backyard's fence. Unfortunately, my grass hadn't been mowed, and the grass' length was way too overgrown — perfect for a little gerbil to hide and thrive in.

As I was diligently and earnestly trying my best to follow the panicking, minuscule rodent — which just had to escape into my luscious fields of green — my heel hit, crack! In hopes that my paranoia of the worst possible scenario had not just happened beneath me, I lifted my foot's heel, revealing a fur ball of white and brown underneath its print.

"Lord…," I whispered under my breath, as my terrified gaze shifted focus to the neighbouring house's window — the house that owned this gerbil. I prayed as hard as I could, hoping that no one had seen what had happened.

What had happened?

I had accidentally stomped on poor little Bergil. Yes, I can confirm — that was the damn gerbil's name.

I didn't want to leave the poor and currently deceased Bergil to rot in my backyard. The innocent rodent had to be given a proper burial. But if there were to be a sudden patch of dug dirt in my backyard, all hands would point to me.

To excavate the gerbil out of my lawn, I pretended I was tying my shoelaces. Wielding the dead gerbil casually in my left hand, I walked quickly, with purpose. I thought, brainstormed possible situations to get rid of Bergil.

"Hey, wait…," I recalled — I'm a part-time balloon salesman.

This rodent weighs around 70 grams, is tiny, and will definitely fly.

Fly, you ask?

Yes. Fly.

The next early morning, I drove an hour early to work and got into the small balloon business' shed, where the helium tank resides. I inflated as many balloons as I could, losing count but ensuring it was enough to lift 70 grams into the sky. Finalising, I tied all the strings together and around the deceased gerbil.

I walked into the nearest open field before the sun rose. I let go of Bergil. He ascended to the high heavens… quite literally, as the golden entrance of the fresh morning sun ascended with that damn rodent.

I'd be lying if I said this wasn't my favourite funeral — and not the most breathtaking view I've ever experienced.

Rest in peace, Bergil.

As a family guy with morals, should I step in and admit my sins to the family of six — now five — that I had just unalived their poor Bergil? I love animals, especially cute house pets. Honestly, if my neighbour had unalived the reason his suicidal 17-year-old daughter is still alive today, I would definitely hold a grudge for a long while.

This shame is quite a heavy burden to live with.