The Frog

The Frog

The whistle blew.

“Hurry up, Trevor,” an anxious mother called to her son. He was playing in the recently muddied dirt road next to the station.

“Trevor! Don’t make me come get you!”

But Trevor knew she wouldn’t risk getting her clothes dirty, and besides, he had just discovered a small frog hiding in the mud.

The frog was a sickly greenish brown, with smooth, fragile skin and two small, beady black eyes. Trevor was enthralled. The frog was absolutely still, and, if not for the eyes, completely indistinguishable from the mud surrounding it. It looked lonely.

“Trevor!” The screech was desperate now. Trevor looked into his mother’s eyes. He looked down again and the frog was gone. He stood up and walked calmly to where his mother frantically waited. They got on board.

“Trevor, never do that again!”

“I’m very sorry mother.”

“Humph.”

The boy looked out the window at the trees blurring past him. In his hand was the frog.