“Don’t patronize me,” said Turtle, turning up his nose. It was speckled in lime green algae. “Anyhow, I’m busy.”
Fish huffily swam away in a flutter of wispy fins and bubbles. Turtle rolled his eyes irritably. Who had time for that kind of theatrical nonsense? The world was about to end, and he hadn’t even been to the other side of the swamp yet. He hefted his shell up and glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon already; gold streaked the bits of cloud that showed through the Spanish moss. He took a careful step along the log and felt it rock comfortably beneath him; he would miss that.
A blue heron alighted in the shallows a few feet away and eyed Turtle beadily. “Don’t bother!” Turtle yodeled. “The world’s about to end, you know.” The heron blinked. It was an articulate blink, which said, Oh dear. Another doomsday prophet. Turtle got a lot of those blinks, but he didn’t care anymore. They’d all be sorry enough soon.
He resolutely turned his back on the heron, feeling smug and righteous. He took another step and slipped. He clenched with his other legs, but it was too late. He somersaulted into the water with a crack and a splash. He flailed and righted himself just in time to see Fish swimming up, looking thoroughly judgmental. He turned his flailing into a graceful stroke as she pulled up beside him.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“I’m going to the other side of the swamp,” he informed her with as much dignity as he could muster. “It it’s all the same to you.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “Those waters are polluted. And I’ve heard wheeled machines go very fast on the flat gray part of the ground. You’ll be flattened.”
He shook his head ponderously. “Only if it’s the end of the world,” Turtle replied. “I’ve a feeling I’ll be around for that.”
“Pah!” Fish said, and swam away again. Turtle ignored her and went up for a much-needed gulp of air.
Only a few minutes later, he was out on dry land again, but unfamiliar territory. The droopy grass was a dusty brown color, and the cattails were stiff and rustled with every heavy breath of air. Turtle resolutely walked up the gentle slope toward the noise, not stopping to rest even once. He made it to the flat gray part that everyone talked about. It was hot and smelled funny. Every once in a while, huge things rolled very fast along it and never stopped to look around them. A long way down, buzzards gathered around something in the grass and chattered evilly over it. Turtle shuddered and stepped out onto the flat gray thing. Two, three, four steps out, and a huge wheeled thing passed within inches of his head. It had almost killed him! He darted inside his shell, trembling. This was a mistake. But he didn’t have the courage to move forward or turn back.
Suddenly, a horrible screeching sound rent the air, and a huge rolling thing stopped nearby; he felt the air it pushed and smelled its awful smell from inside his shell. There was a slamming sound, and then something clutched him by the shell with gentle pressure. He was lifted into the air. Flying! He was flying! It was the end of the world, he knew it. He’d almost made it.
He peeked out to see the ground rushing far beneath him. Occasionally this sight was marred, oddly, by the appearance of a red sneaker. He’d seen them on the lower limbs of fishermen. He closed his eyes in rhapsody as he was transported through space.
Suddenly he was submerged in warm water, and he knew he was in the afterlife. He sat there for a long time, adjusting to the idea that the world was over.
“Well?”
He was startled into opening his eyes. Fish hovered in the murky water, almost lips-to-nose with him. “Well what?” Turtle said sleepily.
“Well,” she said, puffing herself out, “what are you doing now? Would you like to get away from my side of the swamp, please?”
He smiled and nodded gently. The poor thing didn’t realize the world had ended already.
No comments:
Post a Comment