Disclaimer: I do not own the grapes of wrath it is the work of John Steinbeck
The last time we saw him the turtle had been walking slowly, but surly towards California. Now we join him and his journey was almost complete he had managed to travel across thousands of miles through the desert and over the mountains, across highway and streets and he was almost to his destination, he was going where all the people were, he was going to California. He didn't know what he would do when he got there, he hadn't even thought about what he would do when the journey was done, all he knew what he had survived the cars, survived the big man taking him, survived the journey.
He could feel it in his bones he was close, close to where the grapes grew heavy, heavy with the wrath of thousands of people scorned, the wrath of parents fighting for their children's right to eat. He knew not of what he would do when he found the grapes of wrath, he knew not of what he would do when his journey came to an end, he knew not of why he started this journey to begin with all he knew was something was telling him to go, go towards where the grapes were, go towards the land of green, go towards the unknown.
The turtle came to a stop as he saw the hill he would have to climb, the final obstacle of his journey, his almost complete journey. Slowly he began to move again, higher and higher he climbed, he was slow, but he was steady and he knew he would make it. Closer the top came as he climbed higher up the hill, faster he climbed, almost there, almost, no, the turtle rolled back down halfway before he was able to catch himself on a root he had slipped, he had gone too fast and he had fallen because of it. After the turtle managed to right himself he slowly looked back towards the top of the hill, he stared at it for a long time before slowly he moved forward this time he did not rush to the top he kept his slow and steady walk.
Finally he stood on the top of the hill and he looked down, what he saw was not what you would have expected, he saw horror, he saw fighting, the hungry men fighting for their families, the hungry women trying to make food for their families, the hungry children and old dyeing from starvation. The business owners fighting to protect the rotting fruit, fighting to keep the starving people from getting a free meal, slaughtering pigs so the hungry could not eat the sweet meat, destroying mountains of oranges so the hungry could not taste the delicious fruit, guards around the river so the hungry could not fish out even a single potato to fill their aching bellies.
He watched as the hungry began to fight back, first a few, then more and more, fighting against the rich business owners who destroyed so much, fighting against the police who tried to beat them, fighting against the people who called them okies. He watched as the state destroyed itself because the rich did not want to lose a few cents and allow the hungry to eat, destroy itself because the hungry would no longer take it, destroy itself. The turtle watched this all, he watched the grapes of wrath come to fruit, he watched the state destroy itself all because the hungry had to eat and the rich had to get richer and as he watched he felt pity for the fools killing each other when they should work together finally he turned around and headed back the way he had come, back to where there was still hope, back to a place where the grapes of wrath had yet to be sown.
The journey had finally ended and he no longer needed to watch, so back he went down the mountain away from the fools killing themselves and each other, back to a place that had yet to sow the grapes of wrath, and he was saddened by how this journey had ended maybe the next one would be happy, but he knew as long as the rich had to stay rich and the poor hungry there would be no happy ending to their journey.