I ran, well, I tried. I tried kicking by stubby legs but the weight of my shell made me exhausted. Most tortoises take pride in how slow they are but that sounds absurd to me. I felt my shell on my back as though it was torturing me, mocking me. A thought popped up in my head. Why not get rid of my shell?

I went back and forth rubbing on the floor.

Nothing.

I hit my head on the floor and I winged in pain. My shell had cracked. I tried again.

I had given myself a nasty concussion from my tomfoolery. I woke up with my friends.

“THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Edna spluttered.

“What were you doing? Why was your shell cracked?” Billy added

“MORE THAN THAT, ITS IN PIECES!”

I looked down and saw my shell. I got what I wanted, it was completely shattered. But at what cost. Looking around already hurt badly. forget being fast, I can’t walk until my pain reduces.