Next time, the tortoise dies...

I was minding my own business eating a banana on the patio, when mother calls up to tell me there's a tortoise next door, lying on its back.

I look over the fence and see that Harry, our local bully and dominant male, has overturned an opponent and is still busy trying to poke the poor adversary with his horny bit. Literally trying to finish him off.

Feeling I need to intervene, I go down and start climbing over the low wall. As I put my weight on the top brick, it crumbles off the wall, goes over, and gravity pulls me over with it. I land on the brick, instantly feeling like my shoulder blade has been pushed through my chest to my throat. FUUUCCKKK!!!! The pain is like nothing I've felt for a while. Groaning, wanting to make sure I haven't broken anything, I stumble to my feet, gasping for breath, eyes closed in agony. I can walk, so it can't be that bad.

Without checking further, I turn the unfortunate tortoise over onto its feet at which Harry, still trying to poke the guy, hisses at me in frustration. Fuck you, Harry.

I leave the two of them to scurry off into the long grass and check myself. There's blood running down my arm from a few cuts, some loose pieces of skin from the same cuts, but my right side ribs feel like I've been hit on that side by a train.

I make my way back over the wall, avoiding another loose brick on the way over, and head to the bathroom where I pull off the loose bits of skin and clean the cuts with some Hibiscrub. They look okay now, but the ribs are sore, next to my spine. I think they're going to be really sore later once the adrenalin wears off and the muscles cool down.

Sleeping tonight is going to be an interesting experience, I think.

Look after yourselves out there, folks...