I fall face forward, smashing my head against the remains of my wall and smashing whatever face I had left onto the hard floor. I feel something crack but not shatter. Hopefully, my body can repair that damage by itself.

If not, I’m going to have the ugliest mug out there, and not the type you use to drink out of. I mean my face being horrifically disfigured… Being ugly would definitely make my life harder and I don’t want that, do I? Make me beautiful, please!

I try to stand up but I can’t feel my arms or legs. Actually… do I even have arms and legs? I feel some foreign limbs instead of what I’m humanly familiar with. I can’t get up nor can I look back at my body. There is something extremely wrong with this situation. I try to tip over but I can’t even do that. Oh no. What happened. What happened to me? Oh no. Oh… no…

I lift my head to see a sea of eggs. They have the same cracked iron block color and texture with some of them with holes poked out of them right now. Then, a creature flops out of its shell, practically smashing it with its whole body. It bounces off the hard-packed ground and tips over on its side. I had the full scene of a dull silver turtle coming out of its shell and many other eggs following his example.

Soon, most of them are out and about, mingling among themselves. They are disorientated at the moment but they seem to learn quickly: the second hatched turtle righted itself with the help of a few others. They left in waves, in all manners of directions, in but a short span of a few minutes.

Our bowl-like container is filled with dark packed dirt or sand? I don’t know. They rise up as a low curved wall around us. There’s a boundless sea to the left of us and some gargantuan, humongous- huge forest to the right. I can barely see in front of me some flatland or beach of sorts. I don’t know. I just don’t know what is happening.

Most of the turtles go to the sea, some to the forest, and a few to the beach. The rest pass by me, going to the unknown and foreign- something I can’t see with the limited mobility of my body. I just stay in my shell, completely shell-shocked. What happened to the eternity of peace? The permanent deletion from existence?

That woman, AIS- she definitely scammed me. Scammed me big time. And I can’t even get a refund because this was not a business- this was life. I can’t sigh. I can’t grind my teeth in frustration. I can’t rage about in anger. I am stuck in the body of a baby turtle, which is easy prey for just about any carnivore out there. I’m probably about a 1/3 of the size of a middle finger, which is what I’d want to show to whatever Great Being Above that made me this way.

…

I lay there in my shell for a silent time in thinking, contemplation. What next? What do I do? How do I live as a turtle? My brain freezes up and is forced to reboot. First, it’s food and water. Then, it’s shelter. After that… Somehow find entertainment? Improve my body to the pinnacle of existence?

I don’t even know what is out there in the big scary world. I could get smushed into a fine paste during the 1,000,000 or so seconds that I have to survive before I develop proper defenses.

Even then, I can only become a punching bag or an aquatic weasel. I'm not masochistic. And the sea is the last place I want to be, with its dark depths and unknown dangers. I could drown in there! So I just stay here, at home, in my delicate shell for the moment. I will watch over the other eggs. I think about 3 hours passed since my hatching?

No other eggs have hatched since the time of great exodus or the “Choosing” as I call it. Apparently, it was just before dawn when we hatched; the Sun came up and is heating my shell. It’s warm… Don't turtles having a form night vision? I think it's why I saw the “Choosing” in the dark. Just one of the many useless facts I know actually being useful…

…

I am definitely starving, though. I have to get food, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave and get into danger. I want to hide among the shells, yet, at the same time, I will starve at this rate. Reluctantly, I begin to eat the remains of my shell. I have no idea about the effects of this, but there is no way I will die adventuring into the unknown.

My shell tastes bland. There’s no real sweet or salty taste- actually, is there even taste at all? It is filling, at least. Thinking deeply makes me forget the tasteless shell. It becomes a ritual of sorts.

Each time I eat some of my shell, I take delicate care to shape it into a form of home by poking holes into it. Eventually, I have a “door” which is a part of my shell still attached to the rest which can be closed and opened. There are two windows and a hole in the floor that serves as a waste deposit. I have a home now.

A day passes like that without incident and I’ve done my “business” a few times already. Most of my shell is gone by now and I think of taking the other shells. Because I lost my “walls”, I can see the sea expand behind my egg, spreading to the offshores of the world. While I turn to look at it, I notice how slow I am to adjusting to the… fins? The flaps? The appendages?

Whatever turtles have, I learn slowly to move by sliding across the ground. I flopped around slowly to make my adjustments and I’m feeling a bit sad that my shell doesn't matter anymore. I have to relocate. But I still move around awkwardly. I never understood swimming but I could only compare it to that nightmare.

I spend that day counting all the eggs… No comment about my efforts to relearn my body. There’s 300 total, to the best of my knowledge: some eggs could be hidden deeper in the ground or lost somewhere else. I finished eating my original egg and nudged a few of the unhatched egg. There’s no noise coming from them and they’re surprisingly light.

Because of this, I’m rethinking my plan about staying here. I can’t decide between being a sitting duck, metaphorically obviously, or a wandering shell of my former self. Literally. Pun intended.

For starters, the birthplace of my generation is, at the same time, a graveyard for the unborn. It will definitely have scavengers for the scraps; I’m just surprised there hasn’t been any around here yet. They’re probably trying to eat all of the little turtles going around everywhere.

Having a Turtle Defense will help me duck and cover at least. I can pile these paper-thin shells on top of me to feel safer. A new home of scraps. Sounds like the type a thing a washed-up wannabe like me would do: hide in a pile of paper trash on the public streets. I’m really mad that I can’t sigh. I missed being to do my little sarcastic gestures. I miss my old body and I miss my comforts.

And I’m tired the entire time. Is there a reason for me to continue? Maybe I could return back to the Nothingness of death. Maybe I don’t have to jump around in the empty shells of my hatched brothers. Maybe I can be something? I don’t know. Instead, I just burrow deeper into the pile of shells I made, thinking deeper. Thinking what to do. Maximize the fun factor.

I’ve decided that I will become a hermit. I will live in these shells. When my brothers come back to lay their clutch of eggs here, I will share food, water, and news. Then I'd send them off. I will help hatch and protect their eggs. Some will be lost, some will survive. It’s an easy slacker job for a person like me. No real responsibility, respect, and all the safety. Just perfect.