The turtle that couldn't

Who knew a mere six inches could mean the difference between life and death? To succumb to Death less than a stone’s throw away from your element, t’is reminiscent of a Shakespearean tragedy. Of course, if it were a human death, we’d suffocate the masses with media coverage from a hundred different angles, contorting the story at every possible instance to draw attention, looking for someone to assign blame to (as is human nature). But what if I wasn’t talking about a human? What if, say, I was referring to a turtle? Would anyone give a shit?

I cannot claim to know much about turtles; I’ve always just assumed them to be tranquil, unassuming reptiles that rarely come into contact with humans. What I do know is this – these simple, slow-moving critters don’t deserve to experience the brunt of callous human attitude. Nothing does.

It was another day of volunteer work cleaning the lake when I first saw Torterra. Ah, the lake – once a long-standing reminder of a time when humans led simpler lives, now, a relic of the past, less than a square kilometre in expanse. From far away, he (I’ve decided Torterra was a “he”) looked no different than a rock. A well-shaped rock, but a rock nonetheless. As the two of us drew closer, it looked like the rock had sprouted stubby limbs and a knobby head. It was a turtle, about the size of a dinner plate, gazing at the water. Lifeless, with glazed over eyes. It took us a minute to comprehend the cruel scene in front of us – the turtle, on the brink of a small ridge, about half a foot from the water. Had the water been inland its usual six metres, the turtle would have probably lived. But c’est la vie, you win some, you lose some.

I buried Torterra under the bamboo plant on the hill next to the ridge. Sort of symbolic; he could now overlook the entire lake without having to worry about Death anymore. I’m not ashamed to admit, I may have wiped a tear when the other volunteer wasn’t looking my way.

But how did we get here? Is our influence so malevolent that innocent turtles have to aspire to martyrdom to show us just how toxic we can be? We are so self-obsessed with our own individual lives; we seem to forget there are uncountable lives parallel to our own that are still influenced by our actions.

Go outside, and for a moment, just, stop. Stop doing anything and everything. Lie down on the grassiest patch of land you can find, and cease to think about yourself for just a moment. Feel the wind ruffle your hair. Listen to the distant hum of crickets in the bush. Count the stars in the night sky. Find that one thing worth preserving. If everyone cared, just a little, the world would be so much less what it is now and so much more what it was then. Find the littlest amount of compassion in your heart. Find it in yourself to preserve what little we have. Because who knows how long you have left, and when it’s going to end.

Who knew a mere six inches could mean the difference between life and death? Torterra did.