I walked down the trail, trying to calm down and clear my head. It’s never easy.
Classes, roommate issues, and friend drama swirled around as I tried to get my brain to focus on the gravel under my feet-I always liked that sound.
I stopped beside the lake, watching the water and looking for turtles. I hoped to see sliders like my Cesario, as well as maps, softshells, and especially musk turtles. I love how goofy they look when they swim.
My phone buzzed and I checked to make sure it wasn’t my parents (they’re needy). It was my dorm’s 4th floor group chat-and the message nearly stopped my heart.
“Why is there a dead turtle in the kitchen,” it implored.
I bolted to the kitchen, on the fourth floor, ignoring my lungs’ protests.
The unthinkable raced through all my thoughts-was it my Cesario? My little Tsar, as I called her.
I got into the elevator, coughing up a lung (communal living makes for frequent respiratory infections in my case), and pushed the button for my floor so many times and so hard that I’m honestly surprised it still works.
I recovered my breath and walked into the kitchen to discover three girls, all of whom looked basically identical, and very sorority cliche. They were all looking at a teal pot with a note in front.
“In class. Do not touch.”
“It was here yesterday,” one of the triplets noted.
I walked up and my stomach curled at the sight. I could only see the plastron (bottom shell) and feet, but it was for sure a slider, probably a red eared given how many there are here.
No one wanted to touch it.
“Isn’t this a safety hazard, or biohazard,” one of the sorority girls asked.
“Probably,” I replied confidently. “I wouldn’t put turtles around food or anything that could touch food.”
“What do we do with it,” they wondered.
I honestly had no clue. My brain was too focused on the why. Why would anyone do this?
“Tell [RA] and [hall director],” I said, removing the turtle.
What I saw when I picked it up still haunts me to this day.
Since I saw feet, I expected the turtle to be… intact. It was very much not.
Two vertebral scutes (pieces of the shell) were missing-and so was the bone underneath.
See, turtle shells are made of two things primarily-a layer of keratin (like our fingernails and hair), and bone underneath. It was clearly cut out, as no animal could make a perfect hexagonal shape like that. It had to be a human.
That wasn’t the only thing missing either. The poor thing had been brutally mutilated in a way I honestly never could’ve imagined someone doing.
The insides were gone. Completely removed, save for the feet, and a small amount of spinal nerve.
I cried at the sight of the beautiful turtle, now little more than shell and feet. It looked so much like Cesario.
I was, and still am, PISSED at whoever did this. The little guy wasn’t even an adult yet-only around three to four inches.
The RA wasn’t answering, so I buried the poor little guy outside, giving him a little funeral-the least I could do.
Afterwards, I checked on my girl, to make sure she was still okay. She was, and happily took the treats I gave her.
No one is fessing up-even after they promised no punishment. The cameras were of no use-the perpetrator took advantage of the gaps, the blind spots. Based on how clean the insides were-with very little left over, my bet is a human. I just hope I’m not living next to a psychopath.