The Toymaker's Frog

"Anja, do me a favour," He peers at you through his rose tinted goggles, his grey bandholz peppered with dots of paint. Anja, that's your name. You put down a stack of dusty old books he told you to move to the rack ten minutes ago, dusting your hands as you ask in exasperation, "What?" 

From the second you step into this workshop he had been ordering you around like a maid, he did not even lift his head to look at you when you came. You, of course, are dissatisfied by how you are treated and regret this visit. You know you could have thrown the door open and left, but you remember what your aunt said in the letter.

Give him a chance, Anja.

"It won't be long, I just need you to deliver something," He said. Specks of golden dust danced softly in the warm beam of sunlight spotting the gears and chains on the table. This place still remains how it was since you left. Your uncle returns his gaze on the object on the table, his big steady hand twisting a screwdriver. "When it's done you can leave the workshop forever."

Your eyes widened. Looking at him, you can't believe your ears. "Really?" A word slipped out of your mouth. You squint your eyes in doubt. "Really. Yes, or no?" He questioned impatiently. 

All your life you have been waiting for an opportunity to escape the responsibility of inheriting this workshop. And there it is, waiting for you, surprisingly brought to you by your bad tempered uncle. For once, you think he may not be too cruel. You are tired of this cramped place stuffed with mechanical parts and toys, infused with a heavy smell of paint and wood numbing your nose. An opened cage door is a good excuse for departure to avoid being called as unfilial.

Hastily, you answered, plucking away the jolly tone from your voice carefully. "Yes." You say. He nods in response.

He drops his tool and his hand moves away, like curtains being pulled to the side. Finally, you see the item that he has been working with the whole morning, and instantly you regret your decision.

It's a frog, a mechanical frog to be exact. Its head and four limbs are made out of copper, the tips of its digits are replaced with golden balls. The gears inside its metal ribcage grind and tick as it pulls its limbs under its body in fear and confusion of its existence. Glowing green liquid bubbled inside a glass sphere connected to a tiny generator at the back of its torso. The rubber under its throat inflated in a croak as its eyes scanned the creator curiously. Your uncle picks it up lovingly and nuzzles it. 

You feel betrayed. You are backing away, shaking your head in denial as you realize you are being tricked. "Uncle, no!" You hiss. "Uncle, yes." He rumbles, standing up with the frog in its hand that is now looking at you. You know where you have to go if you agree to take the frog, and you don't want to go back there.

That's it, you have enough. You flounce at the door without looking back. Your chest seethes with anger. "I'm leaving." You say, raising your voice. Your fingers wrap around the cold knob and pull. The steel bell tinkles at the corner as the door opens in a slit but a raspy cough from your uncle holds you back. The raging waves inside you freeze. 

You turn your head, a mixture of worry and annoyance stir in your heart. You find your uncle bending over the table, the frog still in his hand, wheezing as he breathes like a rubber duck. Half of him is covered by the shadow where sunlight can not reach, the silhouette of his chest rising and falling weakly.

You swallowed. You want to help him, yet what he did to you ties you at where you are.

He removes his goggles and puts them on the table. Then he massages his eyes tiredly. You can see dents around the eyes that formed after hours of wearing the tight and heavy goggles. You discern this weathered man in front of you is no longer the invincible giant you once thought he was.

He straightens his back. Curls of white thread stuck to his sweaty forehead. He wipes them off with his handkerchief stained with oil and inhales deeply. His pale blue eyes meet yours. He says, "I can no longer go there, the forest. But I need to send it there. It is my last creation, I promise."

The word 'last' pinches your heart. Still, as stubborn as you are, rebutt him, "You never keep any promise." 

"This time I'll keep it. Please. A friend of mine will be there to help." He begs. Your heart softens. Unwillingly, you plod to your uncle and accept the frog.

●●●

Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. The loud chugging sound of train wheels fills the air, interspersed with constant chit-chats. In the distance a woman screeches about her delayed train, beside you a group of children laughed and played, and in front of you a fat short man is looking at his pocket watch anxiously, his fingers tapping on the brass handle of his staff. The friend you will be meeting is Joseph, he will be donning a green vest.

"Lady Anja," you shudder and turn. He is here. He looks strangely familiar. He gives you an exaggerated bow and lifts his hat. "Descendant of the Toymaker's family, it is an honour to meet you." He holds your hand to plant a kiss on the back of your glove, but you pull back immediately in discomfort and pretends to adjust your bonnet. 

Joseph does not mind and instead, he smiles at you. You are flabbergasted at the man's young age as you thought your uncle's friend should be all geezers.

Say something, you're being impolite.

"It's nice to meet you too," You reply, hoping the man's overemphasizing movements and words don't draw any attention from the crowd. 

"Are we boarding the train?" You ask. 

"Train? We don't need a train," Joseph laughs at your ignorance. "Normal forests on the surface of Earth are no candidate to contain your uncle's masterpiece, they are too easy to be uncovered by curious men."

You roll your eyes at the word 'masterpiece'. Since your uncle discovered the formula to breathe life into toys, he had thrown himself into an abyss of addiction, leaving friends and family behind just to focus on his toys. These 'masterpieces' have turned your uncle into an irresponsible monster. You don't think he, an outsider, will understand. Still, he is the only one here who knows where the forest is. How ironic.

"Well then, Joseph, where is the forest?"

"I can show you the way, but you will have to discard your suitcase." He eyes the box beside you. Bewildered, you pull your suitcase near to your feet and refuse to do so. "Are you crazy? They'll spot it!" Upon hearing your answer, the man in front of you shakes his head.

"Tsk, tsk, Lady Anja. The passage is only open for sentient beings. Even if you want to travel with your suitcase it will still be rejected and left behind in this world, besides we need to stay in contact in order to go through all together successfully," He wagged his finger at you. Though he looks like a fully grown man with a stubble, the way he talks and behaves resembles more of a child. "Don't fret too much, most of the time the people won't bat an eye on us because they'll think they are just inanimate objects."

You hesitate and stare at your suitcase. You figure maybe it is the best to listen to someone more experienced than you. You unzip it. Dim green light from the sphere in the frog illuminates the box's inside. The gears' teeth in the frog gnash at each other as it slowly turns toward you, blinking tiredly. You realize its throat begins to bulge so you immediately shush it before it makes a sound. Softly you scoop it out from the suitcase and clasp it in your hand.

Ri-bbit. The frog hiccups. You flinch, looking around to see if anyone hears that. Your gaze rests on Joseph, who is grinning widely at the frog in your hands. You plead for further instructions on what to do now. "A mechanical frog," he rubs his hands together excitedly like a fly at dinner. "Very interesting. He must have poured his heart and soul into it. Come on, make sure it doesn't move too much." He touches the tip of the frog's nose playfully before hauling you by your arm.

"I don't understand," you say as the two of you zig-zag through the crowd. You can feel the slight vibration coming from then frog in your palm "If he wants to deliver it, why can't he just ask you to do it?"

"Nice question, Lady Anja. You see, the forest only opens to those whose names contain the word 'Toymaker'. "

"How does that even work?"

"Nobody really knows how the world works, Lady Anja." 

"If you say only sentient objects can get in, what about our clothes?"

"The passage isn't that strict, my lady." He chuckles.

You realize you are approaching a brick wall at the end of the station. You thought you will just swerve away in other dierection, and oh boy you are so wrong. Instead, you can feel his speed accelerating towards the barrier.

Panicking, you try to brake, but his pull is much stronger than yours. You scream, "That's a wall, Joseph! That's a wall" You attempt to fling away his grip, yet all results in failure. "Yes, that's a wall!" He replies to your scream cheerfully and charges at it. There is nobody around you, the throng is already far away. No one can help to pry you free from his grasp. At that split second you are convinced this man is completely mad.

●●●

You are a child, six, maybe seven, and you did a bad thing. Your uncle is hollering at you. He looks younger, and wrinkles are erased from his face. His luscious beard is darker and shorter, and his eyes are solid turquoise.

You wanted to reach the cookie jar on the second shelf. With your height you surely aren't going to make it. You pestered your uncle to get it for you, but he barely lifts a brow from his project.

Hence, you made a decision to get it by yourself. Pulling a chair strenuously in front of a cardboard, you put your leg up first then your arm, then your other arm and leg. Until you have finally climbed up the chair you stretched out your hand. You grabbed the handle…

With a pull, the cardboard fell. The things inside swept clean, smashing onto you. The furniture threw itself on your weak body, crushing your bones. The shattered glass pierced into your flesh mercilessly. You screamed in pain, your uncle rushed in. Gasping, he pulled you out from the rubble, and watered you corroding words.

You are crying, tears sear down your face as you crush the fabric of your dress in your fingers. After the scolding your uncle picks up the toys' remains scattered on the floor with a heart-broken expression. 

You look at the bruises and cuts on your skin, they hurt, but they are nothing compared to the toys.

You weigh nothing more than them. Of course, what do you expect? You are not even his child by blood, and he won't even let you call him father. If that's so, why should he bring you home from the orphanage in the first place?

"I hate you!" You cry and stomp off. You need nobody anyway.

●●●

You went through the wall, you can't believe it. At the first second you are in the station, and at the next you are mid-air in a steam airship. The machinery of the ship is something you have never seen before, pipes and wires intertwine each other, connected with bubbles of green goo like the one in the frog, humming noisily above your head. "Oops, there goes my hat," Joseph says as he leans against the rail on his back lazily. "It's quite expensive." You touch your hair and realize your bonnet is gone. "Joseph, I thought you said they don't take clothes?"

"Clothes, but not accessories."

"Wait, where's the frog?" You exclaim.

"No worries, Lady Anja. It's right there clipped to your shoulder." He points beside you. You turn, and it is there, its webbed feet clutching tightly onto your sleeve and its head sticking to your neck. You comfort it by patting it gently. You are starting to grow fond of the frog.

"Well, well, don't get too attached, my lady." He warns.

"Where are we? What is this place?" You stand up, wisps of red hair brush across your cheeks.

"Oh, I thought you would remember. you came here when you were little! You liked my airship."

You know you did, but you cannot remember much from it. Your memory is all fuzzy, smudged blur by time, or maybe, you don't want to remember it. "How'd you know?" Baffled, you ask.

"Oh, Lady Anja, I was there." His face cracks into a smile, his brown curly hair streaming in the wind. Clouds pass by behind him, the giant blades of the propeller rotate behind you, slicing the blue of the sky. 

"How old are you?" You sigh.

"Twenty seven. The time of our realms flows differently, my lady."