Disclaimer: Don't own it. Nor do I own Richard Wright's "Between the World and Me"

Compassion

"Once more, my sons," requested Splinter, as he led his young charges in their nightly exercises.

The old rat smiled to himself as he noted the tiniest improvements in each of the ten-year-old turtles. They were sprouting so quickly, and Splinter could easily distinguish each of their admirable, and not so wonderful, character traits, as he could recognize each of their discernible fighting styles as they developed.

'Hm, seems just like yesterday they were crawling around in that strange glowing ooze, and now they are almost ready to make their first journey to the surface…alone,' mused Splinter, as he further observed his sons.

Yes, they were all doing better in their lessons.

Leonardo's posture had relaxed a bit more, easing him through the memorized movements.

Raphael was direct and precise, releasing his pent up tension and aggression.

Michelangelo was valiantly trying to keep up with the pace his brothers had set, for once not goofing around.

And Donatello's mind actually seemed to be on the task at hand, instead of on…well, whatever it was he thought or daydreamt about when he should have been thinking about his training.

The four turtles finished the set once more, standing at the ready. "That is enough for tonight. Well done, my sons," Splinter replied, smiling in satisfaction.

Each turtle dropped to the floor, extremely exhausted and breathless. "However, I do have one more lesson for you all tonight," their master continued.

Four weary groans resounded through the lair, and Splinter shook his head at the reaction of his sons.

Raphael was the first to protest. "But Master Splinter, I thought you said we were done for tonight."

"Yeah, my arm hurts, my leg hurts, my head hurts, my other arm hurts…come to think of it, everything hurts!" whined Mikey.

"Come on, guys. It wasn't too bad," wheezed Leonardo, as he stood trying to catch his breath. Donatello just shook his head, preferring not to state his opinion on the matter.

Splinter responded with, "Yes, Raphael, I did say we were finished, but I merely meant our physical exercise was complete for the evening. It is this night that I wish to teach you all a hard-learned lesson, one that most are never able to understand."

He turned with his walking staff in hand and moved to sit in his chair. "Come, my sons, gather around, and I will tell you what it is you must one day come to comprehend."

The four young turtles sat in a semi-circle in front of their sensei, expectantly waiting for him to speak. "Ah, very good. Donatello, will you please fetch my book of modern poetry from the shelf; I believe you know the one," Splinter requested of his intelligent son.

"Of course, sensei," Donatello said.

Donnie's eyes lit up at the mention of a book and leapt up to retrieve it. He excitedly ran back over to the rest of his family and took his seat on the floor.

"Thank you, my son. Now — " began Splinter.

Mikey interrupted. "Are you gonna read us a bedtime story, Master?"

"No, stupid! He said he was gonna teach us a lesson, remember?" grumbled Raph, as he lightly smacked his little brother on the back of the head.

"Ow!" yelped Mike.

Raph received a sharp tap on his wrist from Splinter's staff. "Raphael, behave yourself. And no, Michelangelo, I am going to teach you an important life lesson. One that all of you must learn before I am to allow any of you to travel around on the surface."

"Does it have anything to do with humans?" inquired Donatello.

Splinter nodded to his son, while at the same time allowing Mikey to climb into his lap to have his father kiss the spot on his head where Raph had struck him.

"Read from the book, sensei. Please?" Leo asked. His brothers echoed his request.

The rat held up a paw. "All right, all right. Let's see…ah, here it is," he murmured as he thumbed through the pages of the book.

The boys leaned forward to listen as Splinter began to read in his raspy voice.

Between the World and Me

By Richard Wright

And one morning while in the woods I stumbled
suddenly upon the thing,
Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly
oaks and elms
And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting
themselves between the world and me...

There was a design of white bones slumbering forgottenly
upon a cushion of ashes.
There was a charred stump of a sapling pointing a blunt
finger accusingly at the sky.
There were torn tree limbs, tiny veins of burnt leaves, and
a scorched coil of greasy hemp;
A vacant shoe, an empty tie, a ripped shirt, a lonely hat,
and a pair of trousers stiff with black blood.
And upon the trampled grass were buttons, dead matches,
butt-ends of cigars and cigarettes, peanut shells, a
drained gin-flask, and a whore's lipstick;
Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the
lingering smell of gasoline.
And through the morning air the sun poured yellow
surprise into the eye sockets of the stony skull...

And while I stood my mind was frozen within cold pity
for the life that was gone.
The ground gripped my feet and my heart was circled by
icy walls of fear-
The sun died in the sky; a night wind muttered in the
grass and fumbled the leaves in the trees; the woods
poured forth the hungry yelping of hounds; the
darkness screamed with thirsty voices; and the witnesses rose and lived:
The dry bones stirred, rattled, lifted, melting themselves
into my bones.
The grey ashes formed flesh firm and black, entering into
my flesh.

The gin-flask passed from mouth to mouth, cigars and
cigarettes glowed, the whore smeared lipstick red
upon her lips,
And a thousand faces swirled around me, clamoring that
my life be burned...

And then they had me, stripped me, battering my teeth
into my throat till I swallowed my own blood.
My voice was drowned in the roar of their voices, and my
black wet body slipped and rolled in their hands as
they bound me to the sapling.
And my skin clung to the bubbling hot tar, falling from
me in limp patches.
And the down and quills of the white feathers sank into
my raw flesh, and I moaned in my agony.
Then my blood was cooled mercifully, cooled by a
baptism of gasoline.
And in a blaze of red I leaped to the sky as pain rose like water, boiling my limbs
Panting, begging I clutched childlike, clutched to the hot
sides of death.
Now I am dry bones and my face a stony skull staring in
yellow surprise at the sun...

Splinter solemnly finished, closing the book as he did. He shut his eyes for a moment and re-opened them to observe the reactions of his sons.

Leonardo appeared concerned and unsettled by the words he had heard.

Raphael looked a tad confused, but stern, nonetheless.

Michelangelo wore a sad, almost lost and disappointed look upon his face.

And Donatello seemed to understand the meaning of the reading most of all, and because of that, he seemed paler than usual.

Splinter waited for someone to say something, internally wondering if the naïve turtles were old enough for the lesson he was teaching them.

"Sensei?" whispered Mikey.

"Yes, my son?" Splinter said, looking at the smallest turtle in his lap.

Mike swallowed painfully and said, "Did someone in the story die?"

"Yes, Michelangelo, someone did die."

"Why?" questioned Leo.

"Who cares why? They must have been bad to get killed, right, Master? Don't only bad people die?" stated Raph, his voice unable to unmask its unsure tone.

Splinter sadly shook his head. "My sons, this is not always true. Everyone must face death, whether they are good or bad people."

"Then if the person was good, why did they kill him anyway, sensei?" murmured Donatello quietly.

"The world is a cruel place, and the people in it can be even crueler. I'm not saying that everyone is bad or evil, but you must all be careful. Those who do not understand you, will fear you. And when people are afraid, they do not always act fairly or rationally," explained Splinter.

"But what does any of this have to do with us?" asked Raph bluntly.

"It has everything to do with us," Leo replied.

"How?" Mikey questioned, still uncertain.

"We're something that humans will be afraid of," Donnie said.

"That is correct, my son," continued Splinter. "We are all different from those on the surface and not all humans will be accepting of us. You must all tread cautiously, my sons. But you must also be forgiving and compassionate to those who do not know any better. The man in the story was simply different because of the color of his skin, but others did not think twice about destroying his life."

Each of his sons grew a little older in that moment, contemplating what most children their age could never imagine having to.

Their master slowly stood, placing Mikey back onto his own two feet, and finished his lesson. "So be wise and understanding, my sons, in a world that shows little compassion to those who are different. Sleep well, all of you."

Splinter patted each of them on the head and turned to walk to his room. As he did, a chorus of "Good night, sensei"s reached his ears.

Yes, his sons were growing up much too quickly.