The Melancholy Turtle

When I was in the third grade, I, my brother Jacob and his friend Antoine went to our cottage on Lake Winnipesauke. 

The first day we were there we decided to go fishing on a swan boat with our “friendly” neighbor Matt Ravioli but the fog came in too strong and you could almost hear it. The fog was so thick that I couldn’t even see Antoine and he was sitting right next to me.

As we drifted towards the other side of the lake there was a thumping on the bottom of the swan boat. I was scared so I asked Matt what the $#%%&$% is happening? He answered me with a mumble that I mistook for him saying it was the evil catfish. 

“What is the evil catfish?” I asked. He quickly broke out into a huge hysteria and started rambling on about his childhood on the coast of Nova Scotia where his father got very sick from eating what was thought to be a diseased catfish sandwich.

I turned to Antoine to ask him why his left eye ball was missing when I saw it roll by my left foot. At this point Matt had finished his ramblings and everything had returned to normal except for the look on my Brother Jacob’s face when he vomited off the side of the boat and a catfish ate it. 

It was here and now that Matt suddenly stood up from his seated position and yelled “Holy #$%$$@#, I have to go feed my turtle and polish my snow globe.”

I never went back to that forsaken lake, but I hear it’s very pretty. 

I sit here writing from this prison cell thinking I will never forget the sound Antoine’s eye juice made when I stabbed it with a popsicle stick

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