Flash Fiction by David

A Dangerous Man | Drabble

A box turtle slowly makes its way through white clover at sunrise.

I found a box turtle this morning. She stood motionless in the garden shade, peeking over the white clover.

I walked away.

In the afternoon, I looked for her but she was gone.

There was a quick trip to the grocery store at supper time. Coming back, driving into the sun, pulling into the driveway, I felt and heard a crunch.

Looking in the rearview, I found her again: the turtle, mortally flattened.

I buried her just now–near that garden spot, in the blooming clover. A plump toad came to eulogize her. “Hop away, my friend. I’m a dangerous man.”

A grave, encircled by flowers, with a small box turtle figurine in the middle.