I was watching a bluebottle yesterday. In an effort to escape the living room, he kept flying against the window, hitting his head against the glass over and over. Then he stopped launching himself at it like a missile and stuck to one little windowpane, buzzing about like he was having a panic attack. It was frustrating to watch, especially because if he'd just flown up a little bit higher towards the top of the window, he'd have been free. But he just kept doing the same thing over and over again. I could imagine his frustration of being able to see the trees, the flowers, the sky, yet not being able to get to them. I tried to help him a few times, to guide him towards the open window, but he flew away from me around the room. He'd eventually come back to the same window and I could almost hear him: "Well, this is the way I came in..."

I wonder if my watching him from the armchair is what it's like to be God, if there is a God. He sits back and sees the big picture, just as I could see that if the bluebottle just moved up the window to the top, then he'd be free. He wasn't really trapped at all, he was just looking in the wrong place. I wonder if God can see a way out for me and mum. That idea brings me comfort. Well, it did, until I left the room and returned a few hours later to find a dead bluebottle on the windowsill. It may not have been him but still... Then to show you where my mind is right now, I started crying...

Then I got mad at God because in my head the death of the bluebottle meant mum and I might never find our way out of this mess. What good is it being so far back you can see everything and yet not doing anything to help?

Then I realised that I was the God on this occasion. I had tried to help the bluebottle, but it wouldn't let me. And then i felt sorry for God because i understood his frustration. Sometimes when people offer a helping hand, it gets pushed away. People always want to help themselves first.

-Cecelia Ahern, The Book of Tomorrow