Young Writers Society

Despite the danger in being mauled by herds of miniature pigs and flocks of flightless birds the four year old ventured on armed in nothing but overalls, a red undershirt, and boots – a wicker sack strapped to his back.

In the middle of the inclining valley is where the gigantic sea turtles had gone to graze beneath the soft rays of the sun and blue skies. The tortoises were well over the height and length of Junior while some were seemed to be larger than other small cars. But they were slow and tired and most of them slept while others roamed in circles of grass plucking patches away from the earth. On down the declining valley the wild flocks and small pigs were battling the giant tortoises in numbers back into the sea and away from the nests they had dug into the sands on the shore. Oinks and honks and snorts and grunts among squalls and squawks and gulls and calls echoed through the high stone walls of the valley.

The beautiful scene and the raucous clangor of war only excited Junior and he was running down the soft green slope. Only he met the war with little break as his way was either blocked by a wall of hard pink skin and black hair. The pigs shoved Junior as if they were little bumper cars all while the mean birds jumped in the air and flapped their wings only to rain poop down on the boy as he tried to gain his way on through. Then the birds came down and plucked at the skin on his face and ripped out what hair he had on his scalp. Some of the menacing doo-doo type birds tried to rip his red shirt right from the boy’s chest. So surprised was Junior that he made it back up the slope with his life – so disheartened was he under such traumatizing conditions that his efforts were for not even one egg.

He hadn’t even made it five minutes in the fray before it became too overwhelming. He felt like a failure and he did not want to be seen as one. A giant tortoise stalked by him as the boy sulked on the soft green grass and Junior watched as the slow beast made his way down the slope in what seemed like forever. Only when the giant tortoise met the battlefield of small flightless birds and pot belly pigs did Junior see the squabbling riot split and they let the tortoise back through to the ocean with little harm – unless from the tortoise that could snap either pig, bird, or small human clear in half. When another, even bigger, giant tortoise slowly ambled his way downhill and by Junior did the light bulb flash in the youths mind.

The metallic, soupy like trail of poop that the tortoise was leaving in his wake upon the green blades of grass as it made its way down the valley slope could have been a silver lining as Junior raced down hill and vaulted atop the beasts’ shell.

It was a slow ride but slow enough for the boy to stand and atop the tortoise he had to be at least ten feet tall. Junior prepared himself as the tortoise broke the front guard of the pig and bird battle field. As he expected the battling sea split like the coming of Moses. The pigs bullied on while the flightless birds squawked curses at him from the feathered and feces ground below. Some tried to jump and catch flight long only for Junior to swing his wicker backpack and smack them out of the air.

Before long he had reached the nesting grounds, it was less of a war here and more a standoff between the pigs, birds, tortoises, and the sea. More than a few nests were successfully invaded and dug up by either pig, bird, or both. Some were still being guarded by tortoises that lay atop their sanded nests surrounded by flocks or herds daring either to come closer than they already were. The tension was high as Junior’s tortoise neared the water and he remembered his grandmother’s warning about the water. The tension broke when Junior’s feet met the ground after he vaulted from the back of the tortoises shell. It seemed the birds were waiting for him and before he knew he was surrounded by flat billed flightless birds looking to pluck every inch of skin from his tiny body.

Junior wailed as he tunneled through the circle of birds knocking them away with the wicker basket. He headed straight for a nest that was being protected by giant tortoises and mounted the first he could. There he was safe from the beaks of those vicious birds but he was still without eggs. He saw that a few pigs had managed to find their way around the tortoise whose shell he sat upon. The pigs were digging up eggs without the mother tortoise knowing and eating everyone they found. Junior knew it would not be long before the pigs were noticed by the greedy birds so he vaulted down from the tortoise.

As it turned out the pigs were not vicious like the birds, they allowed Junior to share in their bounty and let him dig up dirt. Junior knew to keep the all-white eggs and to discard the pink and blue spotted ones. He found a few before the birds finally found where he had run off to. The few pigs he was with were no match for the enormous flock as they tried to bully them away. Junior did his best to remount the top of the tortoise only he lost his footing and fell flat on his back crushing the loose eggs beneath him on the ground.

The scent must have driven the pigs and birds wild because they were on him like fire plucking and ripping at his clothes. So afraid Junior grabbed whatever he could, which happened to be a blue spotted turtle egg, and chucked it at the nearest bird. The egg broke and splattered all across the doo-doo’s body. The bird was slick with baby turtle guts and in turn the flocks of birds were on it. Plucking the feathers from its plump body as it was frantically chased away.

Free of the animal violence another light bulb lit up in the young boys mind and he gathered every egg he could into his wicker backpack and remounted his tortoise. With a vengeful heart Junior through an egg at every bird he saw – which there was at least five of those flightless things for every pig, at least ten for every tortoise. He popped them from the air as they tried to fly high and poop. Junior cracked them as they ran. He bombed innumerable eggs down on groups of menacing birds as he gained way through the fray and back up the valley floors. It proved that the pigs really did eat anything, especially anything covered in turtle egg.

“I told you I need the white eggs.” His grandmother started.

“I know, Gunga. The other one’s my weapons.” Junior said, proudly displaying his battle wounds and torn clothing. “I’ll be back with more.”