No means no

Yes, I have a turtle. Yes, I know they don’t do much and they just sit there, biting on lettuce every once in a while. But Terry has a sense of humor that is very similar to mine and we get along just fine. Sometimes I sit on the bus, apart from him and everything is just so banal. I can picture the bus crashing into a big truck and everyone panicking, running in circles, being cut into pieces, their blood mixing up with the pieces of metal flying all over. Bones cracking, blood flying, people screaming, chaos. But not me. I don’t move. I don’t care. Terry is in the shoe box he calls home, in my room, next to my lamp on my desk. Probably missing me, but not showing it. He is so much like me and people like me will never admit when they are missing someone. I come back everyday and find him there, and he comforts me after those long days of banality, full of nonsense studying that seems to lead nowhere. But not that day. I came back and no Terry. No box. No nothing. I ran to my mother’s room and demanded the truth in tears. He was dead. D-E-A-D. Mort. Muerto. Shindeimasu.
I ran to the kitchen, followed by my mother, grabbed the biggest knife I could find and held it in front of my chest. I was determined. My mother was screaming “Nooooooo!!”. And I said: "Right. No means no”. And then everything was OK again.