howdy friend, welcome to my first public short story in serialized form! If you’d like to support this work and progress and read ahead, you can leave comments on the google doc here. thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! - r.s.
THE BOY & THE TURTLE
Once, in the town of Gimeth, there was a young man named Don who fought to stay alive.
His family was poor, the weather foul, and with a meager harvest season behind them, their stores were dangerously short for the winter.
That was not enough to sever the spirit of generosity in the Pine household.
Don’s home always had an open door.
Many in the village came by to eat, always bringing something to share: two baby potatoes, a few heads of dandelion, an apple, shriveled and dry. Don’s mom greeted each guest with the deepest warmth and gratitude, thanking them kindly for their generosity.
This made Don angry. “They don’t bring nearly enough to share!” he shouted. “They’re just freeloading off Ma’s generosity, and she doesn’t bat an eye! As if we aren’t watching our food disappear. Ain’t no chance we make it through winter. Heck, at this rate we won’t make it four weeks!”
Indeed, the weather had been horrible; a dry summer followed by flooding in the fall, and now the onset of a cold, bitter winter. But when Don expressed this to his Ma, she simply said, “Honey, what goes out comes back around. The Universe will provide.”
But the Universe did not provide. Don watched for weeks, biting his tongue as Ma's ribs grew sharp against her skin, and his younger siblings grew thin. Don was always given the most, and soon, this began to chaff at him. He couldn’t help but do the math. They needed more.
They needed more from him.
Burning with guilt, anger, and fear, Don made up his mind. Grabbing his only extra shirt, his whittling knife, and an old fishing rod, Don struck out and left his home behind. “The Universe will provide,” he snarled, kicking a rock as he crested the old Tagin hill on the edge of town. “When has it? I’ll just have to do it myself!”
And so Don walked many miles through the frozen landscape, boots crunching over the crusty snow and rolling hills. The land nearby had been foraged, searched, and hunted till there was nothing left to find.
He had to go farther. Don ignored the forest and fields around him, storming forward through the cold air that burned his lungs and chilled his skin. His mind hounded him as he walked, calling up all the scenarios that could go wrong. He pictured himself returning home empty-handed, and saw his siblings' faces drop in shame and disappointment…. He saw himself return too late, only to find that something terrible had happened, and he had not been there for them. He saw himself get injured, and not return at all.
Each story was terrible, but he could not shake them off. They swam in violent circles, and he kept them at bay only by focusing on the sharpness of his breath, the color of the sun-soaked pines, and the placement of his next step.
After several hours of his struggle, he heard a strange melody drifting down from a big hill. Curious, Don climbed closer, careful to stay quiet. The sound grew louder, and with it came the smell of smoke and savory meat. His stomach rumbled. Don set his gear on the ground, went to his hands and knees, and peaked over the edge. And this is what he saw:
An old man with bright cherry cheeks sat straight-backed by a small fire with a slim length of wood in his hands, raised to his lips. His eyes were closed as if deeply relaxed, his body swaying slightly to the notes that poured from his flute.
Next to him sat an enormous turtle.
Don gasped at the sight. It was half the size of a grown man, wide as his body and thickly built. The turtle’s skin and shell were an emerald green that sparkled in the firelight. Enchanted, he gazed at the turtle, captivated both by it and the flute, until he was lost in time…
The man stopped.
Don blinked, coming back to himself to find night had already fallen. Stars shone brightly in the dark sky. Don cursed and scrambled to his feet, secrecy forgotten. “I must keep going!” he cried. “What a waste of time.”
As he was turning to leave, Don was frozen by a chuckle. “Waste of time?” a leathery voice wheezed. “No, no…this night, and our lives are many such things, but they are surely not that.”
The fire crackled happily as he fed it some logs. The old man irritated Don. “And what do you know of me?” he challenged. “Absolutely nothing! So don’t talk down to me.”
“Mmm, absolutely nothing indeed. I see a strong young man out with a purpose, no doubt serving those he loves, those who need. That is a noble thing.” The old man nodded gravely, dropping another log in the fire with a rush of sparks before dusting off his hands, and settling back down with a sigh.
Don waited for him to go on, but he just stared contentedly into the fire. Don shifted his feet, torn by the competing needs to bring food to his family and his curiosity.
His curiosity won out.
Cautiously, with small steps, he made his way into the light. “Who are you? Why are you out here alone, and how did you get here? And why do you have a giant turtle as a pet?”
Again, that soft, wheezing laugh that spoke of lifetimes lived and overlapped. The old man smiled, and patted the ground by his side. Don watched him suspiciously, but he seemed harmless enough. Plus, Don was cold. Perhaps he could warm up, learn something from the man, and move in on a bit.
Don sat.
The old man smiled and sighed, stretching his hands towards the fire. Flames danced on the wind, and they listened for a moment to the gentle sound of silence.
“Ahh..Where to begin, young master?”