Today’s genre: Drama/Mystery
Word count: 475
“For the past few weeks, several people have been assaulted by people in a manic state asking variations of the same question: “Where is the frog?” However, this is no fairy tale. The people who are on this mission to speak to ‘the frog’ have turned violent once their victims deny knowledge or the whereabouts of said frog. This strange phenomenon is spreading, not just in the UK, but worldwide. Doctors are stumped, as are other health professionals. So, the question on everyone’s lips is...who or what is ‘the frog’?”
It felt like the world had undergone some 28 Days Later spin-off, but in a really lame way. I turned off the television, watching as the correspondent’s face faded away on my TV screen. Why was it that every reporter, no matter what the news story was, rarely smiled? If I had my cock in her, she would smile.
I picked up a bottle of vodka to wash down the ridiculous imagery and bit down on my bottom lip, hard.
The girl on her knees looked up at me, tears clouding her eyes. She looked...what was the word, ‘sad’? “I love you.”
“I love you too, but it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”
“It isn’t--"
I pushed her head down. “It is, now.”
The bars on Saturday nights were like a pic ‘n’ mix bowl in a supermarket: soft ones, sour ones...sweet ones that made your tongue wet and your dick hard. I’m talking candy, you dig? I’d go shopping for candy nearly every week and that night was no different. There was a lot of candy, I remember that much.
I had decided to buy a new drink that had been released the month before: Spawn. The adverts always showed people swallowing this drink, close-ups on their throats, various moans of pleasure drifting from their nostrils before dark green lettering floated onto the screen: ‘Spawn – It Goes Down a Treat.’ As a fan of my liquor, I gave it a shot. It went down better than a slut in heat. From that point onwards, recall was impossible.
“Did you find the frog?”
My eyes opened and all I could see was whiteness. This wasn’t my bedroom, I thought. I turned my groggy head in the direction of the foreign voice. “Where am I?”
“You’re in hospital.”
I looked around: white curtains, steady sounds of beeping, an anti-bacterial smell wafting through the air. What the fuck had happened?
“The frog, did you find it?”
I narrowed my eyes. Was this dude fucking with me?
“You came in a week ago shouting about needing to speak to a frog, you don’t remember?” he laughed slightly. “You had about six guys trying to retrain you on the floor over there,” he nodded to somewhere past my head. “Well...did you find it? Your precious frog?”
