Don't Lick The Frog

DON'T LICK THE FROG

                  “Don’t lick the frog.”

                  It was such a simple sentence. There was nothing particularly complicated about it as far as River could tell. There were signs posted everywhere in multiple languages and at least three guards repeated it to the group as they passed through the corridor that marked the entrance to the building.
There had been so much preparation before this trip. The teachers sat all of the students down and explained why they were going to the museum and what the rules were. The first rule, and it was repeated several times, was, “Don’t lick the frog.”

                  River was excited about the trip. It was the first time it had been offered to his grade and he had had to get special permission to go. Most parents had refused. They felt it was too “mature” for a student of his age, but River’s parents felt he needed to be exposed to different ways of thinking, different perspectives, and, as long as he made safe decisions, he was allowed to experience things other kids his age weren’t. That’s how he got to camp in the Hinterlands of Makhenia and swim in the Gafalot Sea. He got to go abroad for two weeks in Svaerbyrn with his scout troop.

                  Of course, there were many in the town who felt that his parents were taking unnecessary risks with their children. They didn’t see the hours of research that had gone into such decisions. River’s parents were careful to make sure they understood all of the risks involved with River’s activities and they made sure he was aware of them as well. There were numerous discussions that took place over several days leading up to each event and the trip to the museum was no different. 

                  “What happens if you lick the frog?” he asked.

                  His parents exchanged a look and he was afraid they wouldn’t tell him, but they did. 

                  The phrase echoed in his ears as he entered the cavernous hall filled with people. He stayed close to his group while the older kids jostled each other and pushed to the front, despite the calls from the adults not to rush forward. He wished he had more of his friends with him, but none of their parents allowed them to join the trip.

                  A pair of students, both a few years ahead of him in school, looked back in his direction.
“Hey, kid,” one said. “You wanna see?”

                  Despite his shyness, he nodded, and their hands landed on his shoulders, leading him towards the front. Even before he reached the ropes that held the crowd at bay, he could see it. It was as large as an adult human, green and gold mottled skin stretched across its taut muscles. The eyes, bulging and milky, stared at the throng and the massive mouth frowned as though in disapproval. It glistened in the ambient light and he looked up to see mechanisms in the ceiling providing a constant mist of water. It hopped in his direction and he took an involuntary step backwards, startled. The two kids on either side of him laughed and pressed him forward once more.

                  “I dare you to lick it,” one of them said.

                  He shook his head.

                  “Come on. What are you - scared? There’s no danger.”

                  “There are signs everywhere,” he pointed out quietly.

                  “That’s just the museum being overprotective,” said the other one. “Everyone knows it’s not real. It’s just hype to keep people in line.”

                  He tried to speak up. “We were taught-”

                  “Yeah, yeah, you were taught. We were taught too, but who’s teaching us?” A finger pointed at the adults that, to his dismay, hadn’t noticed that the three of them were separated from the rest of the group. There were too many other students to keep track of. “Who do you think told them? It’s just an old wives’ tale that they’ve accepted.”

                  “Exactly,” said the companion. “There’s no evidence. Nothing. Except for their word.”

                  The boy looked up at the frog, which had come as far as it could to the roped-off part. He wondered, if it was so dangerous, why it wasn’t more contained. Why wasn’t the frog protected from the people and vice-versa? He began to doubt.

                  “Why would anyone want to lick the frog?” he asked the older students.

                  “Why not?” said one, laughing.

                  “You’re just going to do whatever they tell you to? You’re going to follow their rules?” said the other one.

                  “But if it’s for our safety,” the boy tried once more.

                  “It’s not for our safety!” said the second student angrily. “It’s just to keep us obedient. Rules were made to be broken.”

                  “Then why don’t you lick the frog?” asked the boy. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake.

                  A hard look came into the student’s eyes. “What? You don’t think I will? You think I’m afraid?” And darting between two adults, the student was up and over the rope before anyone could move. The boy watched in horror and cries of alarm erupted around him as the frog lowered its head to meet the student’s tongue. The guards were fast, but not fast enough to pull the youth out, and a wide circle formed around the now-prone figure on the floor. The student’s skin began to bubble and stretch, the body rounding into a bulbous form, the limbs shortening, the eyes bulging. Within moments, there was another frog in the chamber.

                  The room exploded into chaos as guards poured in from other areas of the museum, ushering everyone out of the room. The boy was led away by a firm teacher while two guards attended to the shrieking student whose former friend had been transformed.

                  “We didn’t know! How could we know?”

                  The screams became part of the din as they drew further away. The boy was sent home, letters went out to parents, and the museum gained a new inhabitant. The boy returned to visit many times throughout his life and when he became a teacher and a parent, he brought others with him, telling the story of what had happened, what he had witnessed, though he always left out his own part of it. 

                  As the years went on, the exhibit grew in size and gained more of the creatures, until some were shipped to other cities for their enjoyment. Though people complained of the danger, the masses refused to let the practice be shut down; they were too excited by the entertainment of it, the chance to marvel at these creatures.

                  The boy, now an older man, who had seen much in his lifetime, would visit the museum once more before he passed and the creature that had once been a student came to greet him. The man reached out and put a hand against the frog’s head. The frog nodded, accepting the man’s apology, then went back to the others, leaving the man to stare up into the familiar chamber filled with memories and warnings.