Second By A Hare

As the tortoise approached the finish line, he imagined the accolades, the cheering crowd, the confetti to celebrate his big win over the hare. He could taste the victory cake now, carrot, of course, and the irony was delicious. The thought of his bride to be bobbing her tortoise head up and down, making that erk-erk-erk noise that sent shivers through his shell, gave him a boost and propelled him forward along the tree-lined path. Around the last corner, and there it was, the finish line. But where was everyone? The finish line was bereft of spectators. No checkered flag, no celebratory band, not even his fiancée. What had happened over the months it took him to complete the course? Where could they all have gone? Surely he’d won, hadn’t he?