#frog writing

Quick note: this is something I wrote a few years ago, but it's still a piece of writing I really enjoyed! I hope you all can enjoy too!

Oh to be a frog,

Sitting under a mushroom as the rain splashed upon the ground in front of you. Beyond the rain lies many clouds, but they could not block the stars that reflected in your eyes. A gentle breeze pushes the tall blades of grass around you and your mushroom cover. You croak. Many words and feelings are expressed in a single noise. The sound is completely drowned out by the rain, but that’s alright. For now, the raging storm carries on, but everything will be alright. Because like all other storms, the sun will come back, and all will be good again.

Oh to be a frog,

Traveling through the vast rainforest. Mud clings to your feet from all the previous storms. The mud never goes away, it’s practically a part of you now. You’ve learned to live with all the mud that now clings to every part of you. All the other animals have some mud on them, so it must be normal. Even if it feels wrong, it’s normal. As you hop up the small hills of the forest, streams of sunlight slip through the roof of leaves, giving you light. Droplets of water fell from the leaves and crashed against the ground. All around you there was noise. Birds sang, snakes slithered around, and the nearly silent steps of a wolf could be heard. To you, they were giants. Hungry beasts that wanted nothing more than to make you feel pain. And it sounded like they were all around you. Panic creeped it’s way through your small veins. Another day of struggling to survive. 

Oh to be a frog, 

Finally making it to a small clearing. A small pond rested gently in the clearing, almost undisturbed. Sunlight shone upon the water making both the water and the air sparkle. A moment of peace at last. But sitting in the pond was another creature. Another frog. They swam across the small pond with their feet kicking out behind them. The most stunning part of it all, was the lack of mud that covered their skin. You croaked. The small noise was heard without the constant pouring of rain. They croaked. An invitation to the luxurious pond that sat in front of you. When you hopped inside, all the mud started to wash away. Your new frog friend swam around you as the water soothed your skin. And when all the mud washed away, you felt lighter.

Oh to be a frog,

Another storm rushed in. But this storm was much worse than others. Flashes of purple illuminated the sky above your little mushroom cover. Deep grumbles and snapping branches echoed from above. The hours went by with the clouds completely blocking the sky. Not a single star could be seen to provide you with hope. The harsh wind pushed against you as you sat alone under your mushroom. Another loud grumble came from the sky followed by a loud crackle. You let out a small croak in fear of what's to come. But to your right, there was another croak. The friend from before had come to sit under your mushroom. Mud was stuck to their feet, but that could be washed off later. You croaked, and they responded. No matter how loud the rain was, you could hear your friend beside you, and they could hear you. And with them here, the storm didn’t seem as scary as before.

ignoring his hand, i plunge my hand into the bowl of candy and deftly grab a handful, then begin feeding the HR manager. initially he's agitated by my approach but i calm him down with my gentle demeanor. pretty soon he's eating candy straight out of my hand. good sign. when he sits down i brush off his lap with a handkerchief (shows respect for his clothes by not using a bare hand, shows concern for cleanliness and thorough nature to clean off his lap).

i sit directly on his lap, and he winces in pain from my weight. "easy there, big fella. i'm not gonna hurt you." i pat him on the head and reach into my pocket. i pull out a stick of wintergreen gum. the scent and flavor of the wintergreen calm his wild spirit and give me free rein to reach into the pocket of his trousers. "you won't be needing this anymore," i say, placing his wallet just beyond his arm's reach on the table. "that life is behind you."

carefully, i take his shoes. this is the hard part - even taking loafers off of an HR manager can startle them, make them bolt. but he trusts me. i put his shoes on my feet. they fit perfectly. i'm now ready to take his jacket and work badge and release him into the wild. he'll be disoriented at first, but within a few months, he'll rehabituate to the natural environment, maybe even find a mate and start a family. i'll be a valued employee at my new job by then.

Despite late Usamerican culture's famous fixation on meaningless choices at the point of consumption of material goods, the master of ceremonies was expected and encouraged to impose "correct" gustatory choices on the ritual participants, and in all cases it was taken as granted that the host would choose and openly express strong opinions on the fuel source, acceptable 'brands' and varieties of forcemeat and small cuts, etc. While this ritual complex was similar to a related tradition in late Usamerican culture, the "Dinner Party", key differences include the anticipation of male leadership (possibly suggesting a late evolution of the patriarchial "Grilling" complex against the backdrop of a more matriarchial/matrilocal society), a relatively standardized bill of fare, and in direct contradistinction to the "Dinner Party" complex, the clear expectation of a radically imbalanced nutritional profile favoring fat and protein. It is debated whether alcoholic libations were ever central to the late Usamericans' understanding of "Grilling"; yet it is certain that even for female participants, where drinking did take place, beer and neat spirits were favored, and wines and mixed beverages were regarded as inappropriate.

You wake up - must have passed out from the torpidity of it all - and there's a hissing at the door and your mailman is rasping his glass skin against the door, terrified of knocking for fear his transformation into an electric kettle be interrupted by shattering what is to become his body. The advertisements are all in lockstep about how we're going to get through this together and it's unprecedented but not a big deal. Trader Joe's has a special on sprayable lithium grease. You think it's better to get there ahead of the rush so you call up an Uber. Guy in the driver's seat makes no conversation, seems afraid to look at you, talk to you. Can't tell if anything fucked up has happened to him yet. You slide past the National Guard attack dog checkpoint and there's a car doing donuts in the parking lot, no driver at the wheel; another car has a sandstone obelisk thrust through the driver's seat, still buckled in. You wonder if it's affecting the animals. Everyone always argues about that. "I figure it isn't," says the first person you ask, walking a stroller covered in cameras pointing inward at an apparently normal human toddler. "I figure it's some kind of punishment, you know, or the government did it, and why would they do it to animals."