Green Tree Frog    Litoria caerulea

The Frog Lady, 1

“When I woke up, I was a frog,” Ron told the police officer. “I waited for two weeks before someone came along and gave me a kiss.”

“You are saying,” the police officer said, “that this woman,” he glanced at the report he had half written on his desk, “this Marian McBride, turned you into a frog?”

“Look, I  know you don’t believe it. I didn’t believe it either, and it happened to me!”

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “frogs.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Frogs”

  1. The summer after I turned 14, I worked as a teacher’s assistant at a nearby school. A large blacktop parking lot served as the playground. There were frequent storms that summer and a puddle formed at one side of the lot. One day I noticed tadpoles swimming in the puddle. Throughout the summer school session, I kept an eye on that puddle, which was refilled by the recurrent rainstorms. By the time the puddle dried up, the tadpoles turned into frogs and hopped away.

    Note: This is a true story.

  2. “His eyes were as bright as a frog’s leg.”
    No, no that isn’t right.
    “His green eyes glowed like emeralds caught in a raging fire.”
    “If cabbage were as green as his eyes, the world would have more sauerkraut fans.”
    Oh yeah.
    Dean clicked on save and pushed away from his computer. Describing his male protagonist wasn’t easy. Luckily he was a good writer.

  3. We were all members of the same pond, after Mama had deposited us in a large floating green mass of frogspawn. I remember becoming a playful tadpole, wriggling and swimming freely with my brothers and sisters, There were hundreds of us at first, but very few survived to become frogs, just Cyril and I actually. All the others were eaten by birds and fish. Cyril and I hopped away to another pond and met two lovely lady frogs.

  4. The torrential rain had ceased, and Sabine was getting ready to go out. As she opened the front door, she saw the bullfrog. It was staring at her through the screen door. She froze.

    Sabine had always been afraid of frogs, but encountering this creature tonight was the ultimate. She tried screaming and stomping her feet, but the darn thing wouldn’t budge. It just sat there; it’s throat bulging rhythmically.

    Suddenly, it leapt and hit the screen door. Sabine ran into her bedroom screaming and forgot to close the front door.

  5. The loud , throaty, croaking, started somewhere around midnight. They could hear it loud and clear. It was right outside their screen door. Somewhere in the centre of the green garden, which had turned into a veritable pond this monsoon.
    A grassy pond , with scores of frogs keeping up an all night orchestra.
    Others made shrill, urgent , sounds. Not this one. This one knew it’s place in the heirarchy , and sounded accordingly,loud, clear, emphatic and intermittent.
    The croaking came from some unfathomable depth, with loads of attitude.
    I saw it on the third evening of the rain.Sitting on the edge of the stone basin of the flooded, defunct garden fountain. It was large, brown, covered in warts,glistening, and stared at me with clear malevolent eyes.

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