The Hoary Pollywog: Continued

The hoary pollywog's story began here, so please read it first.


...
The hoary pollywog moved toward the surface. He knew it was night, not by the absence of light, for the pond was often dark at the depths he lurked, but by the absence of noise. His disproportional legs kicked, unsuccessfully attempting to aide his flight, For flight it was, a long and tiresome flight, the outcome of which lay in the future, undetermined, and though a matter of concern for the hoary pollywog, uncared about.

For the hoary polllywog, having since come to the conclusion that justice was a word not in the dictionary when it came to him and his plight, had decided that he must himself venture to the surface and see. See the paradise that awaited him when he grew, as all frogs must, to maturity.

Deep in his heart, the hoary pollywog knew that he would never mature, he would die the way he lived, small and shrunken and deformed, with a slithery body and legs that stuck out at the sides, silly ornaments useless at everything but making a fool out of him. He knew that his gills would fail him in his moment of truth, that he would die, unless, and he told himself this unless, though he didn't admit anything else, the world above could include him, he could be made for it.

The hoary pollywog sensed weeds sliding across his black back, and shuddered internally. The sensation reminded him of his horrid deformities and too small body. He could see, and feel, the surface above him, though he had not reached it yet.

He looked up, seeing the orb that was the moon, a blurry feature whose beauty would soon be revealed to his wondering eyes. Steeling his determination, for he was determined he would not be timid and slip back into the water, breathe through wretched fills again and wallow in depression, he kicked his legs.

He found a slight grip on a pebble in the water, and thrust himself from it. He flew into the air, above the water, marvelling at the airiness, the darkness, the stars.

He landed with a slight *plop* on soft grass. The blades of grass seemed as though a comforting throne, fit for a king, someone who belonged. He took and deep breath.

He gasped. He couldn't breath. He shook his head, his eyes going blurry.

No!

He would not die without having seen the moon. No. He flipped to his side. He craned his head. He flopped around the grass. The blades of grass, caressing moments before, seemed as though swords. They sliced into his back. He felt light-headed.

He wished to see the moon. To be in the water. Any fate but this. Dying, alone, shrouded in night. He wished that he could take just one more breath, see the moon, be deformed. Anything but this.

However, mused the sky, would such a wish be ill-granted? The hoary pollywog would perhaps just go back to sulking and complaining.

The sky sighed. The wish would be granted.

A breeze stole through the trees toward the hoary pollywog. It whispered among leaves and rustled branches.

The hoary pollywog looked up. He felt the breeze. No longer a breeze, the wind gushed toward him.

He prepared to die. He looked upwards. Clouds greeted him.

The moon had been hidden all along.

The clouds moved across the sky, flung backwards as though opposite poles.

He saw it. The moon, gleaming above him.

He sighed. What bliss, to die as the moon shone upon him, bathed in silver light. He closed his eyes.

The wind puffed one last time, and with a slight whoosh, the hoary pollywog was blown into the water.

He took a breath. He lived.

But most of all, he remembered. The moon.

The Hoary Pollywog

Word generator: hoary pollywog. (I did an adjective and a noun to make it more interesting)

The hoary pollywog was the wisest of the group, having somehow wandered astray on the road of growth and so carried within his small darting body a superior brain, far superior even to those of the eldest and esteemed frogs, while being eternally trapped in his adolescent body. He seemed to be condescending to those just hatched, even those who had swum for their whole lives and were just beginning to emerge triumphant above the surface of the water. But perhaps he was resentful of their ability to grow and leave the water, no longer entrapped in it's suffocating depths, so it must seem to him.

It must be said that while the hoary pollywog was by far the eldest - and so had no reason or desire to associate himself with those younger and more naive than himself - he did not fail to offer advice, though often cynical and bitter. However, no matter if it was asked for or not (which asked for it often was, general opinion being that someone who had survived so long without being killed, albeit a someone who was stunted in growth, was very knowledgeable in the ways of living undisturbed), the answer was delivered in such a harsh and rude way, though admittedly, at least answered at all, that it was never heeded by the foolish tadpoles.

Which is why the hoary pollywog had seen so many moons (be it a large silver droplet hanging somewhere in the blurry space above the water or the spherical orb holding a rabbit that those of the frogs who cared to venture back to the pollywog (being thoroughly bored above the surface) told of with great reverence) go by with less and less of the small tadpoles, and fewer more of the medium tadpoles, and fewer still of the large tadpoles, and of course those who survived to be frogs hardly returned at all, so their fates were left to the be imagined by the unfortunate youngsters whose minds worked up worse and worse deaths each night.

The hoary pollywog knew that although his life was unfortunate, he still lived. He ate, and breathed, and even had company (though maybe not enjoyable or polite company it was). Yet, something gnawed at his heart.

He had never seen the surface. He sat, watching the tadpoles grow legs and leave, hearing the slight splash of water running off their backs as they rose from the water like monsters, the silence at dawn, and the noise at midday. He saw them leave, and he never saw them return, and so he had come to the conclusion (helped in part by the sparse one or two which had returned, if only to laugh at him) that above the surface, it was one of two ways. It was either a living hell where as soon as one left the water, one was immersed into a panicked world of hiding from predatory birds and watching one's back day and night; or it was a paradise, an oasis of peace where one had as much food as one could hope for and mates running everywhere, with not a rival in sight.

He had chosen to believe, inevitably, that the world above must be a paradise, for what reason could there possibly be of keeping him below the water whilst all his fellows were free, other than to deprive him of this great joy, as some sadistic joke from the heavens?

to be continued...

From wikipedia:
The name "tadpole" is from Middle English taddepol, made up of the elements tadde, "toad", and pol, "head" (modern English "poll"). Similarly, "polliwog" and "pollywiggle" are from Middle English polwigle, made up of the same pol and wiglen, "to wiggle".

Tadpoles are young amphibians that live in the water. As a tadpole matures, it most commonly metamorphosizes by gradually growing limbs (usually the legs first, followed by the arms) and then (most commonly in the case of frogs) outwardly absorbing its tail by apoptosis.Lungs develop around the time of leg development, and tadpoles late in development will often be found near the surface of the water, where they breathe air. During the final stages of external metamorphosis, the tadpole's mouth changes from a small, enclosed mouth at the front of the head to a large mouth the same width as the head. The intestines shorten to make way for the new diet.