Authorship

A gold ray dove through the curtains and lit upon the boy's face, like someone telling him to wake. The boy disappointed himself by being conscious, rolled over and groaned with sore muscles. It was too late; half his mind had snapped awake and proceeded to barrage the other half with a flow of semi-cooked inspired ideas, dreamed up through the night.

Finally the excitement overwhelmed him, and with an energy equal to the dawn's light, he ripped himself free from the shackles of sleep; abruptly standing upright, he found himself a free man. He popped seven knuckles and flung the curtains wide – violently. Now he had the light from outside! Now he could write!

Drawing his pen like a sword, he unsheathed it from its cap and stared at his enemy – the blank page before him – considering appropriate tactics for its vanquishing. Smiling with delight at a thought, he confidently wrote:

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Summer in the woods ever found all the young creatures together; blissfully running about and laughing playfully. Well, not all, exactly – there was one young turtle who hid in his shell in the shade; and try as they might, tease as they would, none of the other animals ever had succeeded in bringing him out to join the fun.

Each day when the turtle woke, the routine was the same: he ate in silence, then withdrew as deep into his shell as his anatomy would allow, and remained there until dusk.

"I prefer my own society," he said to himself, for he loved to speak to himself 'philosophically'. "I am different than the others; and even if I joined them, they wouldn't understand me – not necessarily because they would not want to, but because they could not, they are incapable."

"You are in an arrogant mood today," accused another part of his mind.

"I am being honest about my opinion; isn't that the right thing to do?" he countered himself. "Besides, there is value in my solitude: I have time to think thoughts, to delve into myself, to find out who I really am. Then I shall be wise; all will look up to me – the great philosopher."

Just then he noticed that a kitten had approached him and presently sat observing him. Her deep black eyes peered through a glossy coat of brown fur in puzzlement at the shell – from which the turtle viewed her with some trepidation. He could not ignore her, though he tried, and finally he blurted out, "There is nothing interesting here. I am happy where I am and you would obviously be happier with your friends yonder – you are the life of the party, it seems." This last observation was quite valid, for though she had been gone only a few minutes, the excitement of the other animal's games was experiencing a lull.

"I am tired and I am sad," meowed the kitten.

The turtle was troubled. "I would never have guessed," he declared and he timidly stuck one eye out of his shell to take a closer look. She gazed at the ground as a tear gathered in one eye; it fell, shimmering like a crystal, and shattered on the ground. The sight of such perfect happiness spoiled pulled the turtle's two front feet out of his shell one after the other – that is, he used them to reposition himself facing her more squarely. He cocked his head sideways and observed her with one unblinking eye. "Tell me what is wrong; it often helps to have said the painful things."

"It is a secret," she replied, having regained half her composure since the tear.

"I will keep it. Do you not know? I speak to no-one but myself," remarked the turtle.

"I suppose this is true. Very well, but draw closer so I may speak it softly," replied the kitten.

So the turtle let his hind legs out as well, and propelled himself clumsily (as all turtles do) toward her.