The Grand Race of Morne-Fougerousse🔊

In the serene town of Morne-Fougerousse, there existed a scarce period where the sound of laughter filled the narrow streets and the mirth of children echoed from the rolling hills. The time had come for the yearly event the locals simply dubbed 'The Grand Race'.

The Grand Race wasn't an event of grandeur in the traditional sense but provided the townsfolk with joy that surpassed any affluent celebration. The race involved no horses, carts or carriages. It was quite the contrary, instead it involved the snails that inhabited the plush green gardens and damp courtyards of Morne-Fougerousse.

Over the years, the race had become a spectacle attracting all townsfolk, big and small with the sole objective to prove the agility and speed of their chosen snails. Pierre, a petite and energetic ten-year-old, was an enthusiastic participant in the race. Pierre held an immense joy in his heart for these sluggish creatures unlike anyone else.

Pierre's snail, Gaston, was a slightly oversized, golden-brown snail whom he discovered one rainy afternoon. Gaston, unlike his fellow species, shared a strange liking towards Pierre by following him around. Above all, Gaston was different, he was faster and showed a sense of focus unlike any other snails.

Pierre thoroughly prepared Gaston for The Grand Race, feeding him leafy greens, giving him time to crawl in nature and even reading bedtime stories. The entire town was abuzz with excitement with predictions and wagers hovering about whose snail would win this year's Grand Race.

The day of The Grand Race was here. The sun shone high in the sky, casting a golden sheen on Morne-Fougerousse as crowds gathered, cheering and displaying their snails on the makeshift track carved in mud. Pierre placed Gaston at the start line, whispered some words of encouragement to the small creature, and stepped back.

The race started with shouts of anticipation. The snails started their languorous trek towards the finish. The townsfolk peered in silence, hearts beating as attacks and defences played out on the muddy battleground. Gaston started slow, but slowly and steadily his presence became noticeable, pushing forward with an unwavering objective.

Before anyone could gasp in surprise, Gaston had crossed three-quarters of the path. There was sudden, fervent cheering from the crowd, for what seemed like the underdog had turned around the face of the race. Pierre's eyes sparkled in hope; Gaston's zeal and determination had made their mark in the town's history.

With one final surge, Gaston passed the finish line, it was a sight engraved in the hearts of the townsfolk forever. Pierre’s joy knew no bounds as he picked Gaston and lifted him high up in the air. The crowd erupted in raucous applause and cheering. Pierre was declared the winner, but he humbly insisted it was Gaston who had won.

That night, under the diamond-studded sky, Pierre thanked Gaston and tucked him into his leaf bed, retelling the journey of their victory. The Grand Race was no longer just about the fastest snail, it had become a tale of an unwavering bond between a boy and his snail. A story of humble joy, persistent effort, and an unexpected friendship that outshone everything else in the tranquil town of Morne-Fougerousse.