Rabbit vs Turtle

I’m a streak of white fury tearing up the roadside. Trees tremble and the ground quakes as the sonic blast of my speeding frenzy struggles to keep up.



Somewhere along the way I pass a turtle. Whatever.



The air around me is literally on fire. Or figuratively. Whichever one more aptly reflects the intense friction I’m exerting on the surrounding atmosphere.



Yeah, that’s right. I’m going that fast.



I can already see the finish line up ahead. It’s still a couple miles off, but I got 20/20 vision, baby. My eyesight is piercing through the air just like my—



“Can we lay off with the ridiculous references to your speed? You’re going like 10 mph, at best. I think a kid and his tricycle could pass you.”



I falter a bit, but recover splendidly. I do lots of things splendidly. Usually, though, my splendid self is not required to ignore voices that pop out of nowhere. I scan the roadside. No one is there.



“Buddy, we’re in your head. No use looking for us. We’re rather metaphysical.”



I slow down to a trot. That silly turtle is miles back. I can cure myself of schizophrenia, if needed, several times over before he could catch up.



“And you are?”



“I’m Leonard,” the voice says. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.”



“And I am Ralph,” another voice juts in, almost an octave higher. “You’ll be mainly dealing with me."



“Who says that?” Leonard shouts back, making my entire cranium vibrate.



“I say that! What? I’m not allowed to talk now?”



“Look, I’m kinda busy right now, guys,” I say sternly to myself. “Do you all think you could posses someone else for a little while? I’m busy racing.”



“Yeah, we know,” the low voice of Leonard says. “That’s why we’re here. Someone doesn’t agree with your current competitive spirit. I say, right on, bucko! Leave the little sucker in the dust. My . . . colleague doesn’t quite agree.”



I consider this. Stranger things have happened.



“Well, Ralph?”



“Okay, look at it this way,” Ralph begins, coughing. “Turtle has sort of been having a bad week. He cracked another shell yesterday. I’m just saying . . . Well, I dunno, maybe you could give the guy a break. You know, it would give him one heck of a confidence boost.”



“You want me to lose? On purpose?”



“That’s right, Rabbit – you tell him,” Leonard purrs in my ear. “Crazy talk, it is. You’re not a loser. You, sir, are a winner!”



“Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” I muse, smiling a bit, “I am a winner.”



I hear Ralph's nervous cough again.



“Just see here,” he says. “It’s nice to win, yeah, I get that. But what about being the Good Guy? That’s even better, right? You’re the Nice Guy, the King of Compassion, the Knight of Niceness.”



“The Knight of Niceness? That’s the best you can do?” Leonard sneers. “Come on, Rabbit. Don’t listen to this bozo.”



“I dunno. It has a certain ring to it. Folks have always said I was nice.”



“But don’t you want them to say you’re fast? Nice guys don’t win big fancy trophies; winners win trophies.”



“Well, yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”



I look back behind me and see a small dot on the horizon. Here comes turtle – slow, fat, and hauling a big, broken shell. I let out a puff of air.



“Okay, Ralph, I see your point,” I say and hear Leonard swear in the background of my brain’s consciousness. “You’re saying Turtle’s pathetic and that amazingly awesome guys like me need to throw whimpering puddles of pitiable muck a proverbial bone every now and again.”



“That’s not exactly the point I’m trying to make . . .” Ralph starts to say, before he pauses to think. “Oh hell, it’s close enough. Yeah, he’s pathetic. Throw him a bone.”



I plop down along the roadside. Should I take a nap? It’s gonna be years until this turtle gets here. Maybe I should settle down and pop out a few kids.



“Sure you don’t want to reconsider?” I hear Leonard whisper. “Glory, fame, status – you could’ve had it all.”



I lean back on my haunches and shade my eyes with one floppy ear.



“Don’t you worry, Leonard. My story doesn’t end here. I’m not gonna be known as the rabbit who lost a race to a turtle. Like anyone’s going to believe that anyway! I’ve got myself plans.”



Six hours and three sunstrokes later, the voices in my head have stopped bickering. I can just now see the slow and steady silhouette of Turtle plodding towards me.



“Hey, Turtle,” I call out.



“Hey, Rabbit.”



Turtle’s wheezing. He sounds like he’s about to have a heart attack. Maybe I shouldn’t let him win after all. The shock might kill him.



“Wow, I’m so tired,” I say dramatically. ”I just collapsed! Can you believe you caught up to me?”



Yeah, no one’s going to be able to believe it, let alone this slow, dim-witted reptile.

         

“Well, I just kept going and going.” Turtle gasps. “I may be slow, but I can go, go, go!”



I can see the wild light in Turtle’s eyes. He thinks he just came up with a fabulous marketing slogan for his upset win against the favored Rabbit. Truth be told, though, it is kind of genius.



I sigh again. I remember Ralph's voice, urging me to be some sort of Bishop in the Awesome Church of Niceness.



“Yeah, yeah, Turtle,” I say. “You’re pretty incredible. Now go cross that finish line!”



Turns out, Turtle did have a heart attack, right there before the finish line, too. That was okay, though, because I pretended to fall into a coma. He had to sort of roll himself across the checkered flag, but he did it. He got his victory.



Turtle 1, Rabbit 0



For now, anyway.

         

Writer's Cramp Winner for 1/26