Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: TEXTING (05/18/17)
- TITLE: A Retelling - the Tortoise and the Hare
By Amy Gaudette
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We struck up a conversation, at which time I revealed my desire for the desk was to promote greater inspiration for future publications. Tucker, being the gentleman he was, insisted I make the purchase and, as he was one the most delightful tortoises I had ever met, I invited him out for an ice cream at a quaint looking stand across the road. I went to make my purchase, and was quite surprised to find he was already waiting for me on a bench at the ice cream stand beside a lovely brook.
“You got here much faster then I expected.” I smiled and handed him a raisin-vanilla cone with jimmies on top. (I knew that was the only ice cream Tortoises liked, and the jimmies were a bonus).
“Ah, my favorite.” He licked his cone and I mine as we sat companionably for a few moments. “Actually, my family is renowned for winning a number of races. Including a recent race that took place between myself and a particular Hare named Horacio. Poor kid.” Tucker shook his head.
My ears perked up. “Do tell, I love a good story.”
“Well . . . it was a fine afternoon, much like this one, really. I was on my way to Sable Pond for a refreshing dip, when Horatio came streaking by me, and dangerously close to marring my recently waxed shell. I gave him a friendly holler to slow down, and at that he turned and slid to a stop right in front of my nose.
“'What's the hurry young chap?' I inquired.
“Before he could even answer me his cell phone rang, and he started another chat with someone else.
“But I waited patiently, and finally he finished his conversation and answered, 'You're too slow, old fellow. Keep up with the rest of us, or get out of the way altogether.'
“'Well now, young hare. I know your parents would not condone this type of . . .' At that precise moment his phone makes another strange buzzing sound, and next thing I know his little paws are flying all over that thing, texting away, and our discussion was over.
“I must say, my feathers (if I had any) were considerably ruffled. The youth nowadays have no respect. It's frightening, really. Anyway, as I made my way to continue on to the pond, he hopped in front of me and issued a challenge. A race. I tried to talk him out of it. But it was to no avail.
“Our race was to Sable Pond, which was dandy for me, seeing as that was my destination to begin with.
“He sprinted ahead of me by leaps and bounds, and I confidently but slowly followed. It wasn't long before I found him pawing at his cell phone again, right in middle of the rode, no less. I stopped and warned him not to do that, as it could be dangerous, but he laughed. Well, texting comes before a fall.
“A little while later, as I was enjoying my race, Horacio sped past me. He was at it again, this time while he was running. Oh, didn't he laugh at me. But my heart was truly worried. He who texts first often texts last.
“And then, it happened. I came around a corner and there he was, sitting in the road while fanatically tapping away without paying any attention to traffic. I cried out to him, but he wouldn't listen.
“A big old farm truck came bouncing down the road. He never heard it, and bam, Horacio went flying.
“Not to worry, Horacio survived. He was banged up though – he never fully recovered. His paws were damaged in such a way, he was never able to text again.”
I was disturbed. “Thank you, Tucker. You're a wonderful storyteller.”
I was whipping out my cell phone when I saw his sad little smile as he ambled away and called back,
“Remember Macbeth! 'Texting's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.'”
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