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theZEBRA Is Chewing On  Creation Gore Vidal Listening to:  Everything in Transit Jack's Mannequin Lick Those Stripes! I Be Gallopin' After Ye The Herd Zebra Poo Black Stripes, White Stripes Songs of the Plains
Family Court One would be in less danger From the wiles of a stranger If one's own kin and kith Were more fun to be with. Ogden Nash | Tortoise from Hell Wednesday. 8.18.04 9:37 pm The other day, a lecturer of mine gave us a horrible assignment to complete. We were to write about a childhood memory. The horror. I was forced to revisit the darkest corners of my mind where my traumatic experiences are kept locked behind sturdy doors. Where I hide all memories of my childhood. It was a beautiful cool evening. I was at a park with my parents. But this wasn’t your average park with crummy swingsets and scraggly trees which wouldn’t have offered relief to a scorched squirrel. No, this was a Park. Lovely tall trees with great leafy branches spread protectively over those nearby, squirrels included. A charming pond, with duckies splashing cheerfully in it. Lush green grass – the kind that makes you want to lie on your back and roll around like a dog. But rolling was the last thing on my mind that evening. I was four years old and bored to tears. The lousy park didn’t have a swingset. I scowled and scuffed my way to the pond where I tossed some rocks moodily at the ducks. Unfortunately, my aim at that age was such that I might as well have been trying to hit the ice cream man at the other end of the park. Who I was also not allowed to approach as it was too close to dinnertime. My mood darkened even further, and I turned away to search for an easier target. Just then, a movement caught my eye. I walked over to the edge of the pond to investigate. A tortoise! Paddling sedately in the shallow water. It obviously wanted to follow me home. I thought of my previous pet tortoises. Rather entertaining creatures, even if they were absolute rubbish at surviving 7-floor falls. Still, they made pretty patterns on the ground. I poked the tortoise experimentally. Perhaps I should have introduced myself first, for it seemed instantly peeved and chomped down on the offending finger. I flew to my feet in shock and indignation, my captive finger yanking the feral creature out of the water. I tried to dislodge it by shaking my hand violently. The hellbeast responded by grinding its slavering jaws even more firmly into my fragile flesh. It evidently wanted my finger as a trophy…if it didn’t drown on my blood leaking steadily down its throat first. I did the only thing left for me to do in that situation. I howled and ran for Daddy. Wailing, I charged across the park. Blinded by tears of pain and anger, I tripped over some brat’s inflatable ball and crashed to the ground. The impact left me with skinned knees, and wrenched the Favoured Pet of Lucifer off, sending it sailing into some bushes. I sniffled and clambered slowly to my feet. My finger hurt like blazes. I felt utterly and downright wretched. Would I ever recover from the horrific attack? Even my vengeance had been denied. The Diabolical Shelled Fiend had escaped, leaving only a tortoise-shaped hole in the bushes and a bloody strip of finger flesh. I sniffled again. Then I spied a sharp-looking stick by my feet and the blasted ball which had got in my way. A loud bang soon ensued. Huh. I felt better already. Categories: Zebraling Days [t], Ouch [t] 8 Comments.
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