This is a short story I wrote one day about a wild box turtle I saw in Lake Olmstead Park. Enjoy.
It happened in a flash. He didn’t notice them until it was too late. The fisherman’s hook penetrated his shell. The man was cruel and threw the poor turtle. Goliath ran as far as he could. That’s when I ran into him. I didn’t notice him bleeding, until a kindly old lady came by and offered to relocate him. I wanted to take the poor thing home with me, having my previous box turtle having passed away. Me, my mom, and the old lady [who I found out later, name is Betty] walk him over to a farther part of the park. We talked the whole way and he hid in his shell. She finally sat him down. I’m feeling sad the whole time. Also, not helping, I’m sick also. I wasn’t feeling good and the air outside was making me sicker. I couldn’t wait to get home, but I would never forget him ever. I would miss him, but he belonged in the wild. So, so long Goliath. I’ll miss you. The end.