Frog by Daniel Moya

Frog

A short story by Daniel Moya

Seventy-three thousand six hundred and eighty-one. That is the number of times Professor Anura has passed by my enclosure without so much as even glancing at me. I am nothing more than a trophy to her now: a memento of her previous scientific achievements and nothing else. It feels as if I was created for the sole purpose of collecting dust, but even that is beyond me, seeing as I am trapped within the confines of this small glass paludarium.

All I can do is reminisce about the good old days and recount my bygone grandeur to Virgil: a sentient lily pad and my only friend in this godforsaken world.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” I asked Virgil as he sat, floating in his usual spot in the pond. Was it just me, or did his small pink lily look a bit more wilted today?

“Why, yes, you have! Nine hundred and thirty-seven times to be exact! I love you too, sir! Might I add that I adore the suit and tie you don today? They really bring out your eyes!” Virgil responded telepathically.

I gazed into the glass facing the laboratory, admiring my appearance, and realized that my eyes did, in fact, look gorgeous today. I knew red was the right choice.

“Why, thank you, Virgil.”

“You're very welcome, Mr. Ribbit.”

A bit of silence passed between us. Only the noise of the filter filled the void.

“You know,” I said, breaking the quiet. “I'm mighty glad to have you around, Virgil. It's nice to have a piece of home with me. You're all I have left.”

“Ah yes… home…” Virgil croaked pensively. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“What's wrong, my friend? Are you alright?” I asked, concerned.

He was silent for a bit. A minute or two passed, and I was close to repeating myself when he said, “I don't remember much from home, sir. Yet, for some reason or another, I often find myself longing for it. It's frustrating. The few memories I have shine brightly, but the fog of time makes them difficult to remember. It's odd to yearn for something I can hardly recall.”

At that, I was taken aback. Virgil has never expressed such emotions to me before. Now I was worried about his mental stability. I have to amend this before he starts talking to himself or something and loses his mind.

“You know, I could always tell you about what I was like at home. Maybe that'll ease your soul? I think it might be good for you,” I suggested.

“Really?! I love hearing all about you! You would do that for me, sir?”

“Hahaha! Of course, my boy! Take a seat.”

“Um… sir, I can't really do that, but I'll try my best!”

“Attaboy! That's the spirit!”

I strolled over to my favorite stone, dusted a bit of the overgrown moss from it, and took my place on it facing Virgil. A smile took hold of me when I noticed that his lily had returned to its usual vibrant pink. I removed the pipe from my overcoat and lit it. I set a few rings loose into the air above me, and then I began my story.

“Our home, the pond, rested in a small nook of a massive pine wood forest. A magnificent place unknown to all but us. A small cascade fed into it, causing all the lily pads and water lettuce to bob and weave throughout the pond. All types of vegetation, from pine trees and oaks to cattails and pickerel weeds, took root there. It was a beautiful place.

“Back home, I was quite popular among my fellow amphibians and even amongst all of the other animals, too. In fact, upon hatching, I was already drawing attention all throughout the pond. 'My my, what a handsome young tadpole you are!' Mrs. Duckalina, the hen who lived in the next mushroom over, would say as she pinched my cheeks. And indeed I was, but daring good looks were not my only breathtaking attribute.

“Both my mother and father had gifted me with superb genetic material. I was the swiftest in my class; no one, not even the fish, could best me in the water. My hopping ability was second to none. Even flies would tremble at the mere thought of my existence. Put simply, I was a magnificent specimen among my species; a true testament to the glory of the frog genus.

“As a matter of fact, I was even set to marry Jessie, the prettiest frog on that side of the pond. God, how I miss her. How I miss home…”

“So then why did we leave?” asked Virgil. I had been so absorbed in my memories that I had almost forgotten he was there. The question irked me a bit.

“I – we did not leave,” I tutted.

“Then why are we here?”

“I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps it was my robustness or your bright pink flower, but Professor Anura, the world's leading evolutionary biologist, saw something in us. Saw potential for something more, and so she took me. Gave me a brain to think with and won awards from it. The whole world praised her for her mind, and all it cost was my own…

“We should be back home. I WANT to go back home… I don't belong here.”

“Then let's go home, sir.” Virgil plainly stated.

I choked on the smoke from my pipe. The once-perfect rings I had been blowing now had no concrete form, and I shooed them away. I glared at Virgil. Was he out of his mind? I can't leave this place. He and I are both trapped here until the day we die.

“You must be feeling ill, Virgil. We cannot leave this place. You know this.”

“Have you tried?”

I was sufficiently annoyed now. “Yes! You think I haven't tried? I know for a fact I can never leave! She will not let me! There is NOTHING left for us but this place!” I spat. Spittle flew from my mouth and caused small ripples in the pond.

Virgil went quiet. The only audible sounds were those of my frustrated breaths and the water filter. He could be such a pain sometimes. I wished he would continue his nonsense so I would have someone – SOMETHING to yell at, and so there I waited, hoping for him to open his big mouth and spew some gibberish, but he remained silent. This only enraged me further.

“Virgil! Say SOMETHING!” I screamed! “Say something before I–”

“You were given a mind, Mr.Ribbit,” whispered Virgil.

A grin spread across my face. Finally. “Yes! I was given a mind! One that I seem to be losing more and more as the days pass! What use is my mind?! What can my mind possibly give me in this situation, huh, Virgil?!”

My breaths were heavy. So heavy I no longer could hear the filter. Rage filled my mind.

“What can my mind give me, Vigril?! Please… tell me…”

In that moment, my mind cleared and I heard Vigril's voice as clear as day, “Hope, sir. Your mind can give you hope… and that should be more than enough.”

Virgil wilted and died later that day. That was the last time I ever spoke to him; the last time I ever heard his voice. I cried as I placed his petals underneath my favorite rock. Perhaps Virgil was right. Maybe I really can leave this place. Virgil would never get to see our home ever again, and so I made it my mission to see it for the both of us.

When I had packed all of my things and prepared for my last escape, I took one last glance at the rock where I had buried Virgil. Sprouting, atop of it, shining in a beautiful light, was a brilliant pink flower.