Blinking in momentary confusion, Mikey looked down and found that he was perched atop a huge pile of junk. Jagged lightening cut the dark sky, but it was far away from the junk yard that was his home.

He had lived here since he was a tot. Some stuff had fallen on him in the sewers when he was a tiny turtle and he had changed. Mikey remembered that much, just as he remembered that a rat had scooped him up along with the three other turtles who had been next to him.

They had all started to change and he had watched it happen. Mikey didn’t like the way the rat looked as it grew larger and he had run away. He’d tried to get one of the other turtles to go with him, but the one he’d wanted had shaken his head no before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Mikey found the junkyard and it became his home. He didn’t go underground unless he absolutely had to; he didn’t like it under there, it was too dark. The junkyard was a good place; always changing, always exciting. He dodged the people during the day and chased away the bums at night.

When the people put watch dogs in the yard, Mikey hunted them and found their meat to be tasty. Eventually the people stopped using dogs and Mikey had to scavenge further for meat, but there was always a ready supply of stray cats and dogs. Sometimes he snagged someone’s pet poodle just for the fun of it. He liked to hear the fat ladies scream and cry.

Tonight Mikey hadn’t left the yard because someone was trespassing. He could hear their voices and they didn’t sound like bums; they sounded like thieves. 

Mikey wanted to know what people tasted like. He’d killed a bum one night, but the man smelled so bad that Mikey couldn’t bring himself to take a bite. Maybe thieves were cleaner.

The gleam of a flashlight shone almost directly beneath him and Mikey tensed. As the shadowed form passed close, Mikey shoved the heavy stack of junk that he had rigged, sending a thousand pounds of garbage toppling over.

A loud cry echoed through the yard and Mikey nimbly leaped and scurried down to the ground. He heard a voice and spun around, but it was only a cell phone, the speaker activated.

“Don? Donatello?” the voice said, rising as its agitation grew. “Donny, answer me!”

Mikey grinned at it and turned back to his dinner. Digging through the junk, he saw the body of his victim, happy to note that it wasn’t breathing.

Pulling away more of his booby trap, Mikey realized that the body was that of a giant, mutated turtle. Frozen for a moment, Mikey began to frantically paw at the junk, uncovering the turtle’s face.

Suddenly numb, Mikey stared down at his victim. It was the turtle who he had tried to convince to leave with him so many years ago.

Rain began to fall, coming down in a sudden torrent. Mikey collapsed next to the prone form of what he now knew had been his brother.