Pulverized

Shattered like a mirror, pieces of a platter sharp and disconnected. Green, brown, yellow, earthy and natural tones turned dark from dirt and the oncoming blood. Blood creeping, oozing, steadily from the shell. The legs still full, untouched, as if they had been added after. The head, I hoped, had quickly found its way inside, instead of being knocked off by the car. Instead of being pulverized. I hoped the head was tucked away, safe and sound and snug. So the creature didn't have to see what happened. So the last thing it saw was its home. I saw it, and that was enough.

I had tried to help. I even had somewhere to be, I was meeting an old friend for coffee and was running late. But I saw the animal slowly crossing the street, trying to make it to that other side. I pulled over, I stopped, I got out. I was careful to stay away from the head, just in case it was a biter, I wasn't familiar with all the various kinds. So I picked it up. I didn't want it to be run over. I thought I was helping. But the turtle didn't know one way or the other, and when I picked him off the pavement he was frightened, of course he was. And as any turtle would in that situation, he relieved himself on me.

I was startled. It was not traumatic, but still unexpected, and to this day I don't know why I reacted the way I did. Why I didn't run across to the other side, why I didn't just set it down. Why I threw the thing in the air, to the very place from where he was crawling away. And the car came so suddenly, from down the road, from nowhere. It was over in an instant. Or, at least it was, I should say, for him.