The Neighborhood Mean Streak

The Neighborhood Mean Streak

Mark gazed into the racing pool, his deep, brown eyes glistening with an avid intensity. The reflections of the crowd gathered around the water sent shivers of anticipation throughout his entire body. In his hands he clutched his battle buddy, Mean Streak. Taking a deep breath Tyler looked down, locking eyes with his racing turtle. “This time we’re going to win Meanie,” he said, “this time is our time, this time, Grace is watching.” Furtively Mark glanced over his shoulder to survey the judges’ panel and catch a glimpse of Grace. He took a deep breath as he caught her skipping across the grass on her way over. To Mark, Grace was the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world. No one ever said that about Grace, probably because she had scars on her face. But, Mark told himself that every day, and he had confided in Mean Streak to win this race for her. Before he could be caught staring the judges whistle blew and Mark was thrown back into reality. Quickly he took his place at the starting line of the racing pool, the other teams positioning their small green racers in the starting box. A hushed silence fell over the crowd, and the judges began their proclamation. Mark leaned down and kissed Mean Streak on his pointy little head. “It’s up to you now buddy, go geddum!” He placed Mean Streak in the starting box and stepped back, waiting for the final whistle to blow, that would bring victory, or death.
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Mean Streak crouched combatively in his small, cramped penalty box. He savored the sound of the lapping of the soft, warm water on the other side of the clear divider. He and his pale master had been practicing for this day to come, the day when Mean Streak would win, the day when Mean Streak the racing turtle gained the respect of his colleagues and fellow turtles. We don’t choose our destinies, Streak thought, we just live with them. Awkwardly he dug his fore-claws into the hard ground beneath him, his wide anatomy making ground travel slow and cumbersome. Today will be the day, he thought once again and he took his place before the clear divider. Taking a deep breath Mean Streak glanced around, through the clear box that housed him. He could see his challengers, the Green Bullet, the Painted Racer, Turtle’s Fury, and the returning champion, Hare. Today I will be the champion. A sharp, screaming noise filled the air and the flesh inside Mean Streaks’ shell rattled, he hunched forward as the clear divider raised in front of him, clearing the way to victory. Mean Streak dove into the soft, warm river in front of him, and began his long, arduous trek to victory. With a fierce determination he crashed through the water, sending sprays of water high into the air, the waves of his dive jostling his clumsy shell into the clear walls on either side of him. Mean Streak trekked on, set on his victory for the day.
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Mark jumped up and down whooping furiously. “GO STREAK GO!” He waved his hands spastically through the air like some kind of primate worshipping a forest fire. “COME ON STREAK!” Mean Streak was only in second place, though the slow moving contest was still unfolding torturously. At least he didn’t have to worry about the Green Bullet, he was still in his starting box, turned around trying to climb out of the racing pool. Mark could see Grace cheering at the finishing end of the pool, her blonde hair like gold in the summer sun. Mark cheered with a renewed vigor screaming at the top of his lungs “GO STREAK YEAH!”
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Mean Streak could see that he and Hare were shell and shell, neck and neck for the finish line. His muscles were in searing agony, his lungs a firestorm. Still he pushed on, his heavy shell weighing him down in the soft, warm water. Mean Streak could see the finish line, he could smell the delicious snails at the end of the trail, all he needed was one final push and Mean Streak gritted his beak to give it thinking, Today I will be the champion!
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Mark beamed with pride as his picture was taken with the Mean Streak. The whole 30 foot race had taken about 30 minutes and Marks’ voice was hoarse and raw from screaming the entire time. All in all he got his metal, his picture taken for the newspaper and a brand new aquarium for his pal. These prizes though, were nothing compared to the smiles he got from Grace. When everything was said and done she skipped over to him, Marks’ heart skipping in rhythm to her feet.
“Pretty fast turtle you got there.” She said. Marks’ heart vaulted into his throat and he almost coughed.
“His name is Mean Streak, he’s a Red-Eared Slider,” Mark croaked, holding out Mean Streak. “They call them that because of the red streaks by his eyes, see” He pointed to the red streaks on either side of Means’ head.
“Wow!” Grace breathed, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s really cool.” Mark almost fainted, she smelled like jellybeans and cookies and her eyes were like precious sapphires.
“Y…Yo…You can pet him if you want, he doesn’t bite.” Mark stammered. Grace reached over and graced her tiny fingers across the top of Mean Streaks’ head.
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Mean Streak leaned into the soft, warm fingers that brushed the top of his head. Closing his eyes he mused to himself, Today I am the champion, and boy does it feel great!