Timmy the Turtle v.s. The World

A nostalgic memory I have from childhood, or rather a collection of memories, is definitely the fact that every Valentine’s Day my mom would always drop off a cute plushie with an attached card for me to pick up at the school office. For each of my elementary years, she would take time out of her work day to make mine.
One year, when my brother and I went to the same school at that time, she brought both of us each our own stuffed turtles with an assortment of candy. We mixed up our toys and I ended up taking the green turtle and my brother took the pink version of the same plushie. Nonetheless I named my turtle “Timmy.” I adored the plushie and carried it with me all day. My friends were jealous of me and everyone wanted a chance to pet Timmy. He was irreplaceable.
After school that same day, tragedy struck. Timmy was brutally and viciously robbed from me, taken straight out of my hands by my very own backstabbing brother who, at his young age, decided his pink turtle was too girly and for his own selfish gain decided to take mine. Now, was Timmy (my turtle) originally supposed to be his? Yes. Still, he was mine now and that was the most vile disgusting act that I’ve ever seen him commit.
As he pulled my precious Timmy from my hands in what seemed like slow motion, my face warped into shock and sadness all at once. It hurt me, quick and sharp, as if I was stabbed with a knife that was… quickly pulled out and just as quickly bandaged by the smile that filled my face when my same backstabbing brother handed me the pink turtle he’d had previously. Instantly, I was happy again. Rose is irreplaceable.