The frog awoke in her bed, after quite an awful sleep, full of nightmares of losing control. Adipose tissue coagulated all around the scar of her previous death involving the handsaw, clown, and puppetry. She did not care for this adipose tissue, it made the media overwhelmingly and conspicuously contrary to her own stature. No one seemed to notice the tissue, or her for that matter. But, boy, did she notice others. More specifically, she looked for others, and in particular, one particular other. Even in death, she had not forgotten the brilliance that were his lines so evenly and radiantly spead over the paper!
And so it was, she searched each hallway, lawn, gutter, tree, sidewalk, coffin, and bedroom she entered for his smiling lines. Not turning up, she did find some other atrocities. One most of all, was a news flash in a passing window.
She had strolled pleasantly along a downhill sidewalk, passing what seemed like the beauty of seasonal death. Moving slightly to the left or right, she attempted crushing the leafs that flanked her; the sound had always aroused her. However, all that she passed on this block were soggy and slimey. They whispered to her. "We wouldn't step on you if you were wet and stuck to the ground." Peculiar, she thought.
The next block she indulged in a bad habit of licking everything she thought was poisonous, she had heard it gossipped to be a cure of unwanted adipose tissue, though she was still rather unaware of any real effect. This block was drier than the last, but all the leafs had been swept into neat piles on the curb. She stopped for a moment and imagined her and the paper jumping into them, swimming a bit, then embracing, where he would confess that she was not a frog, but a princess, and they would kiss and transform into a regal couple ruling a small, but pleasant plot of land. A whimper broke her out of her fantasy. "We are going to be incinerated!" Little cries of despair were coming from the leaf piles. The frog, being fairly uninformed in the right thing to do (she never feared her chain of beads or sat in a box talking of guilt), leaped into the piles and swam through, messing them about the parkway that they sat on. "I hope this mess wont cause you to burn..." she spoke. The leafs still cried but they seemed thankful.
The next block finally brought the sorts of leafs she had been waiting for, crunchy, dry, and unavoidable. The arrays were waiting for her feets to desicrate them and send her mind swirling into the deepest fantasies of desire! Her left foot stepped and the inevitable crunch sounded, how compelling! As her right foot was to slam, a voice so terrified moaned. "You have broken my spine, the shards like shrapnel are bleeding me out! You murderer! Murderer!" Apparently leafs can feel their endoskeletons unmassing! The frog tried to explain to the leaf that she had killed, apparently, that he was already dead, that that was the reason he fell from the tree. He was unreasonable, and stubborn. He was not dying because of lack of chlorphyl, as the frog had explained, but because foolish ditzes like the frog go out of their way to break backs of helpless passerbys! the frog wanted nothing to do of firther insulting, she had enough before she died. Turning to the right she saw a small office building.
Two windows made up the bottom floor, one being a medical practitioner's office reading: Dr. Gogol MD, and Dr. Flaubert MD. The window next store only had a small television showing static. The static interested her far more than the white letters and sterility emanating from the medical office. Sauntering up the the television in the window a news flash suddenly appeared.
A pink paper crane was talking about a famous collector. The frog did not realize that collectors could be famous. She never really understood why collectors took such great pride in their collection's worth, but were so attatched to them that they'd never sell them. The crane spoke:
...This evening, A local collector had he dream come true. The perfect addition to her collection finally manifested itself to her. And in what form? A lined paper! This Racoon of our fine town has been lining up different papers she met in rows of four and rankinf them in order of importance for over a year. A construction, a wax, A pink origami crane, that, would you have it, is me!, a news, a tracing, and finally this lined to perfectly fill the space between tracing and carbon copy. Her collection is supposed to mean that she is capable of the impossible, according to leading research officials in Guidance. She feels that her collection is soley fulfilling. "It's like a collection of my heart. All the things that matter to me and make me who I am." Wow, congratulations to that racoon, it's realy something that she's accomplished. Let alone to be apart of it! Haha....
The frog's eyes welled. Her beloved paper was now gone forever, in a perfect little world called a collection. A collection that was not hers. No table saw, cigarette burns, poison, or even mortification could compare to this pain. She quickly resorted to the closest thing to make her feel better, her guilt, sort of, for almost killing the leafs. When she got close to their scattered prescence on the sidewalk however, she could not deal with more pain, not guilt added to this incredible loss. She leaped over the sidewalk and attempted to cross the street.
With a quick look west she saw the sky was full of eagles. "How majestic." She spoke aloud. As she was about to finish crossing the street headlights and a horn bashed her head to smithereens and flattened her body, spewing her heartbroken blood all over the pavement.
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