Frog
by Mark Patrick
I looked down. A frog. You know, the normal green ones that slip out of your hands when you try to pick them up. The ones that eat flies, even though you never see them do it. I like frogs. Not to eat. They jump far and make funny sounds. That part. This frog was on the sidewalk. Not exactly home sweet home for an amphibian. I wondered what he was doing out, hopping around while an approaching storm neared. I wondered why I was. I thought animals had an instinct built in to sense danger above. Was this frog broken? Who was I to judge what a frog is supposed to do. I look funny when I dance. I mumble my words as if I can’t speak. Falling down while walking is not natural. Two broken things staring at each other.
I think the frog smiled. Scientists tell me frogs can’t smile. I know it is a good distance to the ground where that frog was, and the mouth isn’t exactly big. I have never seen a frog smile. Has anybody? No one can tell me then that this frog didn’t smile. Suddenly, the storm was above me. Darkened skies, smell of rain. Then it happened. Lightning struck me.
Stop!
I didn’t know what to do. I had only seen people struck by lightning in cartoons. Do I fall down? Jump up? Cry. Celebrate. Die? Cartoons don’t prepare you for life, so why do parents make us watch them? I still don’t know what to do. Is this supposed to hurt? It happened so fast.
I looked down. A frog.
I decided not to do anything. I stood there and stared at the frog again. It was still smiling. Did his wife make him go out to pick up a few bugs for dinner? Do frogs listen to their wives? I can’t understand what a frog says. I don’t know how this guy down here does either.
It was for real, I did get struck by lightning. Do I have a choice what to do? I thought life was full of choices. Why should a lightning strike and a smiling frog interrupt the power of the universe? No frog should be given that responsibility. They eat bugs.
I’m hungry. Lightning takes it out of you. Has anyone been zapped, and then headed to a local pub for a bite before making his way to the doctor? No shoes, no shirt, no service. What if your shirt is half melted? You shouldn’t discriminate.
Why hasn’t this frog moved? When I mow the lawn, they jump out of the way at the last minute to save their slimy skin. They don’t freeze in fear. They don’t stare in curiosity at the grinding machine spinning their way. There wouldn’t be any frogs left. Something’s wrong with this frog. Something’s wrong with me. I just got struck by lightning.
I saw it eat a fly. First time. I wish I could say I saw its tongue, but it was too quick. Who watches a man get fried and then decides to eat? A frog. Maybe mother frogs pass on the same advice as my mom. My mom did turn green that one time she got the stomach flu from a student at her school. She always told me during a storm, stand next to someone taller than you. And when you’re hungry, eat something.
Mark is an American currently living in Singapore. He escapes the heat by hiding in his air conditioned room writing the occasional short story. He believes that short stories are a result of a moment that must be captured in one sitting, written from beginning to end and never edited.
