The Frog and The Fly
One day a frog was sitting by a pond.
“Ribbit.”
He ribbitted. My text editor is telling me that ribbitted is not a word.
But I think is, because if one were to say: “The frog ribbitted”, I know exactly what that means. So it must be a word.
He rebitted again. “Ribbit. Oh, hello there.”
Swiftly and with scant a hint of notice, the fly buzzed by the frog.
“Buzz.”
“Oh do come back.” The frog ribbitted once more. “I’m hungry.”
The fly, who was also hungry, ignored the frog.
“That’s not very nice.” Mr. Frog croaked towards his fleeting fellow pond enjoyer.
The fly turned to the frog, his sixty four eyes locked upon the frogs vocal sacs.
“Excuse me?” The fly hummed.
“I simply said ‘hello there’, fly.” The frog squawked.
“You little bitch. You didn’t say, ‘hello there’, you said you were hungry. There’s an implication in your words, frog. Don’t act as though I’m incapable, fly brained as I might be” The fly was furious, you could see it in his fly wings as he flapped them, with fury.
The frogs eyelids narrowed. If a frog could look sullen, this frog did.
“Well, yes. I did. However, crucially, I didn’t finish my sentence. You were flying away. Without paying me a hint of mind!”
“I’m no fool” The fly replied. “I’m no fool.”
“And I’m a frog of honor. I’m a trustworthy frog. When I was a tadpole, I swam this very pond. I swam lap after lap. My thousands of siblings and I, all trying to get along, to share the meager droppings of food that made their way down to us.”
The frog hopped a little hop, bringing his froggy frog legs akimbo.
“And whilst I ate the little I did, my thousands of siblings would say ‘Was there food? Did you just eat food?’. And I would truthfully, nay, honorably reply, ‘Yes, but there was only enough for me.’ And that was true! Every time. Cross my conus arteriosus.”
The fly, his sixty four eyes peering about the pond, noticed that this frog was in fact the only frog sitting at the pond.
“Well, what happened to them?” The fly zizzed.
“There wasn’t enough for all of us.”
A lighting bolt rang out towards the fly, sixty four projectile bullets plunging right into the periphery of the fly’s quarter.
And then past. A moment later, those same sixty four blurred bullets shot back to whence they came.
The frogs mouth agape, welcomed back his tongue from its quick quest across the pond. Bountiful food following suit.
The fly, stunned by what he’d just experienced, proclaimed “Did you just eat my wife?”.
The frog’s eyelids shot open. He swallowed. “I’m not sure. I ate another fly, I only eat the ones that look delicious.”
The fly frantically reacted, his fly body lazy suezining about.
“She’s gone, I don’t see her. You did! You did eat her!”
“I… I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have if I had known.”
“You cretin. You absolute bastard. I will devote the rest of my life to filling your world with misery.”
For the two next hours, the fly buzzed about furiously from a distance long enough to be out of reach, but close enough to be audible. The frog was mildly annoyed. Then the fly died of old age.