A story I wrote for a friend.

Dark Pixie's picture

A story I wrote for a friend.

He said to write about a dancing turtle named Phyl who wears an eyepatch.

The sun reflected painfully bright against the lake, rippling gently in the warm spring breeze. Flower petals floated through the air like pink and white snow, dancing and gliding until they became earthbound to rot. Silently, a small, one eyed turtle crept out of the lake onto the otherwise deserted shore. Visually sweeping the surrounding area, Phyl assured himself that he was, in fact, quite alone. He stood on his two hind legs, turned to his left, and pulled a small piece of black cloth from behind a waterlogged tree stump, rinsed it off in the water and tied it around his head, making a sort of wonky eyepatch, covering his empty socket. Then he began to dance. He danced as fast and freely as any living creature had ever danced. He cha-cha-ed and hokey-pokey-ed. Electric slide, and a sort of solo tango. Flamenco and break dancing. On and on he danced, eventually gaining an audience of all types of woodland creatures. They watched in awe, fascination and no little amount of envy. Birds began supplying the grooves for his moves.
However, as we all know, turtles are naturally slow beings, and Phyl was certainly not dancing slowly. His legs kept moving, pumping, swaying and sashaying, keeping time to whatever the birds sang for them, but Phyl's little turtle heart couldn't take the strain, and he collapsed after hours of endless joy, dead in an instant. And all the other animals walked away, satisfied with the show, and left his body to rot with the falling flower petals.