Middle-aged Human Burning Turtle (not very catchy, I know).

If I had to describe myself right now… it’s how I’ve been my whole life… I’m a turtle on fire.  When you think of a turtle what do you see in your head… Slow, persistent, keeps moving forward, and can hide in its shell if need be.  Only difference here is, my shell is on fire.  What’s a shell?  Armor.  Only it’s not steel, it’s not Kevlar, it’s not 3 inch thick plexiglass.  It’s flesh.  Thick, heavy, burning flesh.  I still feel the lap of every flame.  I feel the physical.  I feel the burning.  Whether I’m standing still… hiding in my shell, or moving forward… the fire is always there.  A constant pain, a constant burning, a constant torment I cannot see, reach, touch, or extinguish.  A constant stress.  A constant agony.  A constant pain.  I can’t outrun it.   I cannot escape.  I am a turtle on fire.  Cursed to burn.  Cursed to keep going.  I can’t feel anything but the fire at my back, chasing me.

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