3 days. For 3 days I screwed around. In this time, I piled all the shells in the center of our Birth-Crater. I learned about my body. I got my plan. But 3 days did not prepare me for a sucker punch to the face.

...

I remember only one time when I was in a fight in my 40s. I just left work that day and I was about to go home. But then, I saw a billboard about new Arcade which finished its construction near my neighborhood. It was old-fashioned: P*c M*n, Sp*ce Inv*ders, Pinb*ll, and various oldies. A blast from the past is what I thought. So I drove over and parked my dinky, little, and junky car.

When I walked in, I felt a nostalgic thrill- a boyish wonder at a snippet of my younger years when I wasn't so uptight, looser even. I stepped over to a Pinb*ll machine, looking at it. I was remembering my hands gliding across its frame and playing over and over again. My hands twitched as they grew a mind of their own- an inborn muscle reflex of sorts desperately trying to vent its desires out upon the world.

The dinging sounds and various noises of bumping across the practically metal obstacle course filled my ears. I saw a sphere fly across the field, racking up points at an unbelievable speed. I saw the colors, the spring loosing, the machine shaking- or was it just me? I needed to play once more; there was no denying myself this indulgence. I was a hopeless addict reintroduced to his fixation just before finishing his rehabilitation. And damn it all if I didn't get high!

(?) "Hey, Old Man, what're you doing in here?" came a youthful voice behind me.

But this kid tried to cross me. I glanced back to see his smug glee at my annoyance and his obvious fraternity ties by his attire. Despite the informal setting of this Arcade, he was pretty suited up: he even had his insignia on his shoulder... I forgot what it was.

Even if I do say kid when I talk about him, he was actually a college student- probably in his last years of schooling and doing very well too. Athletic. Tall. And so sickeningly charming. I felt like spitting in his face. Die if you can't leave the elderly alone! Let an "Old Man" enjoy his time alone! Alone! It's the only thing in a long time I could enjoy.

(Me) "Young lad, I don't suppose you understand courtesy?" I said, with what stable voice I could muster.

(Smug Man) "Courtesy? What does that have to do with anything?" he said in such an unbelievable tone.

(Me) "Leave me alone. Fuck off!" I hissed at him.

(Smug Man) “Are you trying to start something here? Are you drunk?” he replied, in a snidely, mocking shock.

Smug. He was so fucking smug. A real bastard, if I've ever seen one. And I have. In games, in school, in life, in the Administration, in the stores, in and around the whole world: bastards like him existed to be smug. To be so falsely coy. To taunt you with their pretenses and the hound your beliefs. To judge your being. To taint your image. To haunt your dreams. A real bastard. So fucking smug too.

(Me) "I said, leave me alone!" I asserted, quite loudly.

(Smug Man) "Are you sure? You don't look too good," he said with a form of gleam to his eyes.

I was an old soul with a piercing insight. Your diabolical scheme was to get brownie points from the public. You seriously were thick-headed, weren't you? A stubborn bastard too.

(Me) " Leave me the fuck alone!" I yelled.

I huffed and puffed heavily. My face burned a bright red because I got so worked up. My chest felt tight and I breathed faster, shorter, and deeper.

(Smug Man) "Seriously. There's something wrong with you!" he declared.

A lot of people turned to look at us at that moment. What a dick! He couldn't help but demonize me to show how a "cool, considerate" person he was! That was when I snapped.

In the span of a second, I crouched into a Southpaw stance. I then launched across the floor. My blood burned. My heart burned. My arms burned. My head throbbed. I was consumed with bloodlust. Another second later, I crossed the 3 meters between us and threw my jabs. I prepared my monster right cross as my arms flew to his chest...

Only for me to be swept off my feet. He crouched and swung his left leg low, catching me off guard and forcing me to fall forward. The last thing I felt was a sudden pressure on my neck. I lost. I was knocked unconscious by this Smug Bastard. I failed. I couldn't even deal with some punk like him...

At least, that's what I thought in those fleeting moments. It turns out I was having a cardiac arrest. That man I hated so much was a renown medical student researching cardiology. He was also famous for his Taekwondo- just unbelievable. The student was reasonably concerned about my health and quite "courteous" to put it ironically.

I woke up the next day in the hospital and found out about all of that from the doctor. It was so embarrassing that I mistook him for a rich kid/thug. I apologized profusely although he tried to cover the whole incident for how bad he handled it.

I bowed before him when he told me he called the Paramedics immediately and performed CPR on me until they came... If it wasn't for him, I would be dead. From then on, I vowed to myself never to judge so badly. I gave lectures to kids on how to live responsibly too! How could I fall so low to attack an innocent man?

...

And that is the story why I don't judge so harshly. At the very least, I try to keep it only to myself. But when you wake up to sudden pain and realize you are being attacked, everything flies out of the window.

I sputter awake, coughing out blood onto my attacker. They shift within my shell pile and began dragging me out. I flail wildly to get free but their grip is too tight. I am dead. I got caught. I didn't even live for 3 days.

I murmur as many prayers and curses I can before my life ends. We come out into the open so that it could rip my little body into fleshy strippings and turn into delicious sustenance for their belly. I give some final, futile kicks and dig into the ground.

When I get turned around, I finally see my aggressor: instead of a grayish and dull-colored turtle like the rest, this one was a sandy tan sheen. It almost blended in with the Birth-Crater's floor. They are twice my size and have some kind of hand-fin hybrid for their limbs. In addition to this, the turtle also seemed intelligent.

If I could sigh in relief, I would have done it then and there. But the only thing I could do was to wipe my ass across the ground to clean off the rest of the crap on it when I shit myself. No judgement. No judgement at all...

We both stare at each other in the eyes. It goes on. A long wait. It is just both of us, staring at each other and evaluating what we both were. I tilt my head. They tilt theirs. I raise a fin. They raise theirs. I still rub my ass across the ground yet they do not copy that. I rub more vigorously and do much more exaggerated movements to draw out a large circle.

They raise their left hand-fin and... Why are they cupping their face with it? Hey. Don't you give me the pity stare! I had too many people doing it before so don't you fucking dare and give me the pity stare! I move fast to nibble at their leg but they flip me over in a single, fluid motion.

Finally, they speak to me.

(Rude Turtle) "What happened to the rest?" comes out their neutral and toneless voice.

I barely manage to make a noise resembling something like a person clearing their throat. Then, I tap a fin on the ground and try to tip from side to side. Success! Yes! I have one thing I can finally do again! Yes!

I miss out on what they said in response and get rocked back to my feet. I am so happy that I start chittering unconsciously. Is this how turtles laugh? I want it to be more diabolical!

(Rude Turtle) "What. Happened."

I quickly snap out of my giddiness. Oh. I totally forgot about them for a moment. Let's see... Hm... Yes. I think I know how to explain this.

(Me) "They're all dead."