Shell Shocked

I'm sorry... really, I am. In fact, you have no idea how sorry I am. Well, perhaps you do, because I'm really not that terribly sorry. But believe me when I say that I never meant to hit you. I never meant to crush you in an instant, your shell exploding like a cluster grenade, shrapnel covering the highway. Please don't misunderstand me when I say:

I don't normally run over turtles.

Turtles have a reputation of being one of nature's wisest, most conservative creatures (next to the owl and Ben Stein). But if you are, in fact, so wise, I must ask "What were you doing in the middle of the highway?" What on earth were you thinking? Most humans don't try and cross highways during rush hour, and here you are, slower than most, doing your best to make it across. Never did you expect a Buick LeSabre going forty-five miles per hour. I don't think you saw it coming; then again, even if you did, what could you have done? Or maybe you were sleeping, or perhaps already dead? None of that really matters right now... because you are 100% dead at the moment I write this letter to you.

It all happened so fast. I was following Karissa through Monroeville, heading to my internship in Pittsburgh. We were both talking to each other via cell phone (with headsets of course). Her car straddles the turtle (or tortoise, I don't really know), and no sooner does she say the words "Aw, a turtle--" do I hear the a crunch. My car felt like it had run over a speed bump--only it sounded like a speed bump made of porcelain. Suddenly, I hear screaming in my ear... Karissa had watched the entire event unfold in her rear view mirror. I quickly glance back and see shards of shell spinning across the road, it looked like I had run over a hard vase with a gooey center.

"YOU KILLED THE TURTLE!" she's screams. Did I? Or were you already dead and I just finished the job? If I hadn't hit you, someone else surely would have? And yet I can't help but feel remorse for running you over. I can't remember ever hitting an animal before, let alone one held in such high esteem. I respect you, turtle.

But the crunch was so loud! It was like nothing I had ever heard before. There are various sounds that are so unique that they will stick in your head for days, months even. The crunch of your shell will haunt even my most pleasant of dreams. If I were to foley the sound for, say, a radio show, I would probably bake a clay pot in a kiln and then fill it with meatloaf... then run over it with a car.

I will never understand why you were in the middle of the road, or what your plans were for the day, but I give my best to your family. Perhaps your death will save the lives of countless other turtles who were contemplating crossing the highway. Unless you are on some sort of rocket-powered skateboard, don't try it.