Clarence The Turtle Meets His Match

Clarence was a turtle and he knew where he was going. He was going forward. And after exactly thirteen steps, he was going backward. That much he knew. Almost everything else, however, was a complete mystery.

For example, Clarence had no idea how long he'd been pacing like this. He had been taking thirteen steps forward, turning around, and taking thirteen steps backward for as long as he could remember, which, to be perfectly honest, wasn't very long at all. He figured he couldn't have been at it for too long, because he certainly wasn't tired of it. Quite to the contrary, he relished it. Pacing was what Clarence did, and he did it well. He was in his prime. His feet felt strong, his shell light as a feather. Yes, Clarence felt like he could go on pacing forever, and that's just what he planned to do.

It's nice to be confident in what you do. Generally speaking, there is a great deal of satisfaction to be gained in turning in a performance that is consistently perfect and perfectly consistent. An ordinary turtle might have derived a significant amount of pleasure from excelling so thoroughly in his vocation. But Clarence was not an ordinary turtle. Clarence was afflicted.

Ever since he could remember (which was not very long at all), Clarence was prepossessed with a persistent and insidious feeling of dread. He had no inkling as to the source of it, but behind every step he took and every turn he made, it was there. Something bad was going to happen. And it wasn't just going to happen. It was going to happen to him. Clarence was sure of it. Long ago, this feeling had invaded his mind, occupied it, and pushed out (almost) everything else. Danger was imminent. It was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Some days, the ever present dread got to be too much for Clarence to take and he took a moment off from focusing on his pacing to consider his surroundings. He didn't actually stop pacing, mind you, but he stopped thinking solely about it. Clarence felt vaguely wrong in doing this. Pacing was his task and he liked to devote himself fully to it. But on those certain days, the dread would simply overwhelm his resolve and he had to grant himself at least a modicum of repose. Today was one of those days.

Clarence looked down and he saw what he always saw when he looked down: dirt. Brown, unremarkable dirt. Usually, the dirt gave Clarence a great deal of comfort. It was consistent, just like him. Always dirty, always brown, and always wholly unremarkable. But today, the dirt did not comfort Clarence. In fact, his dread only increased the more he looked at it. 


Today, the dirt seemed to share his dread. It seemed to know, as did he, that something very bad and completely unavoidable was going to happen. No, today the dread had a particularly tight grip on him, so Clarence would have to turn elsewhere for solace.

Clarence looked up and he saw what he always saw when he looked up: bricks. Three bricks. Suspended in midair. Held up by nothing; holding up nothing. Two of the bricks were normal, reddish brown, everyday bricks. Other than the fact that they were suspended in midair, these two bricks were as unremarkable as the dirt. The third brick, however, was quite remarkable indeed. This brick was painted a brilliant, iridescent gold and on the front of it, someone had drawn a question mark. This brick was marvelous. It reflected the daylight in every direction. Clarence had seen it before, but it never failed to take his breath away. It was mystery and wonder incarnate. Everything about Clarence's world was completely static, but this brick was thoroughly dynamic. Everything else seemed devoid of color, but this brick was vibrant. And the question mark! So enigmatic. If Clarence had possessed a mind capable of more complex thought patterns he might have thought of this magical question mark brick as a symbol for his entire existence. But Clarence did not possess such a mind. He just knew that he loved this brick and it always took his mind off of his troubles. But not today. Today was different. Today, the brick was menacing. It was full of dread, just like him, and this thought shook Clarence straight to his core. Something terrible was going to happen. He was overtaken. Drastic measure would need to be taken. He decided to try one last thing.

Clarence looked straight ahead, but he did not see what he always saw when he looked straight ahead. Quite to the contrary, he saw something completely different from anything he had ever seen before or ever would see again. There was something moving. Up until this exact moment in his life, Clarence had never seen anything besides him move. Had he not been so fully committed to pacing, this sight would have stopped him dead in his tracks. If all of the dread that he had experienced up until this point was like reading about the concept of love, the dread he felt in this one particular moment was like actually feeling love for the first time. He was consumed. His omnipresent dread, the one thing in his life that he had always been completely sure of now had a specific, defined locus. It was here, it was real, it was in his world, he could see it, and it was moving towards him. Just as he was thinking all of this, he reached his thirteenth step, abruptly turned around and began walking in the other direction.

When a person is thrust into a highly stressful, extraordinary situation, that person often reverts to some rote mechanical process that he or she has performed countless times before in order to find some comfort and stability in an otherwise out of control environment. Some people bite their fingernails. Some people pray. Clarence continued pacing. Step, step, step. 


His dread was bearing down on him, slowly yes, but most surely. Step, step, step. Soon he would be directly confronted by it. Step, step step. All of this he knew, yet he could do nothing but pace. Step, step, step. He reached the thirteenth step, took a breath, and turned around.

The object of his dread was upon him.

It was a man. He was dressed in red from his cap to his boots. He had an ominous mustache. For the first time in his life, Clarence knew something besides where he was going: he had to kill this man. No other outcome would suffice because this man was most assuredly here to kill him. Clarence knew this. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. And yet, Clarence could do nothing but pace. It is a special kind of helplessness that one feels when he knows exactly what he must do in a situation, but is completely, totally, and wholly unable to do it. 


This was Clarence's lot. He knew he must kill this man. There was no alternative. But he continued to pace. He walked directly at the man and for a brief second, the man stood and looked at him. Then he jumped high into the air, directly over Clarence's head and once again the manifestation of his dread was completely out of his view. Luckily, Clarence had reached his thirteenth step and at that moment, turned around.

The man was approaching the golden brick. He positioned himself directly under it. Clarence walked steadily toward him. The man then did something quite peculiar. He jumped straight up and punched the underside of the brick. This was unexpected. The brick shone brilliantly for a split second and then immediately became dull and lost all of its luster. This was unforeseen. A red and white speckled mushroom popped out of the top of the brick. This was rapturous. So much was happening to Clarence right now. It was dreadful and exhilarating and horrible and amazing. He was completely unequipped to synthesize what was going on. 


Events were unfolding rapidly. His world was changing in ways he never could've expected. And still, he paced.

The man jumped up, grabbed the mushroom, and consumed the entire thing in one gulp. Instantly, the man grew twice his original size and in this moment, all was lost. Whatever hope Clarence once had of destroying this man instantly evaporated. He was hopeless. A lesser turtle would've turned around and ran in the opposite direction. An even lesser turtle would've stopped and cowered in fear. Clarence continued walking straight towards his doom. That's the kind of turtle he was.

The man jumped right for him. This was the last thing Clarence would ever see. The man landed directly on top of Clarence's head, forcing him back into his shell. Clarence felt something strike him from behind and he was suddenly spinning and moving away from were he had been moments before. For the first time in his life, Clarence did not know where he was going. He could no longer feel the ground below him. He was falling now, and he knew this was the end. The encounter with this man, this object of pure destruction and dread, was the first time anyone had ever seen or heard of Clarence, but one thing was for sure: he would never be seen or heard from ever again.