The Little Boy & The Frog

A little boy sat by the pond in his parents’ garden. Contrary to what people believed, he knew this garden better than anyone: he liked to think of himself as the king of a vast, unexplored empire. Although the house was not of an extraordinary grandeur, the garden was incredible.
A willow tree protected the boy from the suffocating, worried gaze of his parents. Through the leaves he was invisible, no longer the centre of attention. This pond located at the far right hand corner of the garden had been his sanctuary ever since he could walk, an isolated space of water and overgrowth, the only part of the garden that was not pristine and immaculately maintained. Perhaps his mother had chosen to overlook it, or perhaps the magic the pond, he believed, possessed had glazed his mother’s eyes as cataracts would, shielding it from her obsessive need for order.
A few lazy reeds hung indolently, their reflections fighting helplessly against the profound darkness of the pond. Moss-covered rocks sat passively on the edge, pensively, watching the garden in all its vibrant liveliness passing through the course of hours and days, with a certain sagacity that is born only with time. Stray flowers grew erratically around the water, the amalgam of colour and form never a centre of interest for the little boy. He sat in a little alcove he had formed, partly with the help of nature who had seemed to accommodate his growing form over the years. The smell of mud, damp and water, was perhaps the most familiar scent to him, occupying a place greater than the smell of his mother’s cologne. On days where it was sunny, he basked in the generous warmth of the sun, on rainy days, he sat sheltered in his alcove, watching the patterns forming on the water: on cloudy days, as this day was, he watched the clouds move in the sky, swaying in a sort of melancholy dance with the wind. He preferred these kinds of days, he felt that there was more to look at.
Suddenly, a frog appeared. The little boy was of course used to the sight of such creatures, though this particular frog appeared with such rapidity that he was quite taken by surprise. The frog, its ugly, beautiful skin glistening with moisture, stared at him, its eyes scrutinising the boy’s pale skin and innocent features.
“Hello.” The boy said timidly. “Teddy.” He added.
He thought the frog looked more like a Teddy than anything else. It was far more real than his own pretentious name.
The frog did not react to his greeting and hopped towards the edge of the pond. The boy was seized with fear: the water was so dark and deep, the frog would surely drown!
“Don’t jump Teddy! It’s too dangerous!”
Perhaps frightened by the boy’s alarmed tone, the frog elegantly hopped into the water, creating a gentle plop and a disturbance of the usual calmness of the pond.
The little boy was horrified and scrambled towards the pond, his fingers digging into the cold mud. He peered over the edge and searched desperately for the frog. The frog, however, jumped out almost as suddenly as he jumped in, and hopped through the overgrowth, disappearing without so much as a glance in the boy’s direction.
Oh how brave the frog was! the boy thought. The frog had seen how deep and dark the water was, but he had jumped in without hesitation, and then had jumped out as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The little boy envied the frog’s courage.
A thought occurred to him. Perhaps the frog had jumped into the water as an escape, from what though he could not ascertain yet. It did seem like the best place to escape to. How often had the boy dreamt of escaping? Escaping his parents’ constant worry, escaping his overbearing mother and his father who always smelt of something unpleasant, escaping the weak heart that didn’t let him play with other little boys. He wondered what escape must feel like: it must be very liberating, he decided, almost like flying.
He looked into the pond, at its obscure depth and mystery, and then stared at the sky for a few moments, the sky blemished by light grey clouds. He jumped.