/lit/ - Literature

From upon the sunny hill, Toad set out about the road, sunny-side up as he preferred it.

>>13515443
It was behind him, he thought as he mounted the rock. Lost somewhere along the way. Couldnt catch up to him now. He pulled at his collar and leapt, quickening his pace.

>>13515443

In his heart sammie the frog knew he was tainted. He is a criminal and he is about to give himself in its the right thing to do as his mom tough him, and why would he disobey her more now?

Following the guilt of his act which had started to consume him moments after it had occurred he had set his mind to give himself in only stopping by his home to put on his pajamas so that the police would not waste clothes on such a deplorable creature as himself. But on his way to the police office doubt had started setting in and freedoms kis was on his neck as if seducing him not to go, "The wind" he thought "ive always loved the wind on me, best enjoy it now before I rot away" the words echoed in his mind mechanically as his heart was numb with shock.he could not fully grasp the crushing weight of the underlying concept behind this neither could he fully grasp his surroundings, he was in a sort of trance upon the rock he stood on.

And then suppresed thought started burst in his mind like an unholy catharsis.

"No"

he waited tensely for his morality to fight against this thought and when it did not happen he cautiously continued his train of thought like a child would silently move while attempting to take something they shouldn't

"Why should I give up my freedom? For what? Im already a dreg and as soon as society receives this knowledge from the bloody mess ill be treated as such until the coppers pick me up and then ill be pleasantly forgotten like a inconvenience by those housewives and there twin faces" he spat to one side "HA!" he croaked "fat chance" he took of his pajamas and set of far away to find freedom

And thats how sammie the frog became sammie the wiseguy

>>13516459
You gotta trim this way down. The writing is clunky

>>13516459
>>13516754
A good thing to look for is the adverbs. You use a ton. Cautiously, pleasantly, silently, mechanically, etc. Also, a lot of the adjectives can go. Keep working anon!

>>13515443

Under the shade of the odd corn, Toad was standing atop a lame boulder. His singlet was the single cloth he retained from his former life. Its lower end almost merged into his matching bagpants. The two were a pajama ensemble of sorts. A gift from his wife.

"Isn't it borderline miraculous they would be selling pants exactly matching your shirt, Toad dear ?"

Yes honey. Almost like fate, as you so sweetly put it.

He was wearing fate's own pants. And yet he
had been unable to prevent the most mundane tragedy imaginable. The last of the water from his once watery home was still dripping from his grazed frog fingers.

He was completely still, his globulous gaze emptily staring into space.

He would have to go again.

>tfw didn’t get into princeton

>>13515443
Short and plump, Toad stood basking in the sun following his swim. His black-white banded swimsuit bunched and pulled his skin as it dried. It just was not the same without Froggy. Two years does little to help heal, when amphibians’ codependency was as symbiotic as Froggy and Toad’s. They ate, slept, shat, fucked together. They were, as Froggy put it one warm Milanese summer night “As if they were one soul in two bodies.” What what that make Toad now, he wondered. No love meant no life, though there he was. Tandem bike gathering dust, and belly becoming too rotund for his liking, Toad reasoned swimming would kill to birds, ending his sloth and gluttony. In reality, it did neither. “Perhaps”, Toad wondered, “next dip I won’t come back up”. Short and plump, Toad jumped back into the small pond.

>>13515443
"Nice overall faggot!" shouted a shrill harsh voice from a colony of ants hurrying past Toad.

Toad stared into the distance as the words slowly crept into his ears and diffused into his brain. The smaller animals frequently mocked him.

Toad thought about what he would do today. If it were up to him, he would do nothing. But the constant surveillance of the open grassland made him feel as though he had to at least appear occupied. Who he was trying to impress, he wasn't sure. He focused on the sensations in his body: the cool breeze hitting his skin, the water slowly dripping down his arms, and the grass ruffling between his toes. He began to hop without a destination in mind.

Although Toad had escaped the confines of his prison cell, he could not simply return to his old life with his friends and family. Doing so would only ensure that he would be locked up again. He had to abandon everything, including himself, and surrender his life over to an unknown world. Toad was overwhelmed with a deep sense of disconnection at that moment and questioned whether it was even worth it to go on living. Where familiarity once was, there was now uncertainty. Where confidence once was, there was now confusion. He had grown too old and tired to build anew. So toad began smoking crack.

Still dripping, his feet slipping against the stone, Toad climbed onto the rock at the edge of the field. The sky was loosing the warm colors of sunset, a calm violet stretched overhead. Toad shivered as the air cooled around his skin. Running through the river saved him time, but still he knew they would be after him all the same.
When he was on the inside one of the other prisoners had told him about the sheriffs bloodhounds, "Doesn't matter how clean you get yourself. They don't smell what's on you, they smell you. Shit I bet they can smell all the way across the state line."
Toad shivered again. The wheat of the field rocked gently in the wind rippling like fabric. He wondered how far he would be able to run. He wondered how far would be far enough and whether he'd ever be able to stop. A frog croaked beyond the tree line. Toad remembered his friend, his only friend, still behind bars back in Swamp County Jail.
The sky was taking it's final steps into a deep cobalt night. There was no more time to think, to remember, to plan. Toad jumped off the rock. The moon washed the golden wheat in a pale light. He parted the stalks and stepped in, swallowed by the small forest and made for the state line.

>>13516805
>He was wearing fate's own pants.
Amusing thought. Good one anon.

>>13516837
Tfw when it doesnt matter, you'll be great regardless :)

Had the rock been a real mountain and this toad been a real frog, perhaps there had been a sight worth seeing at the edge of the quiet pond. Unfortunately, the toad's eyes had only his aquatic brethren to cast themselves upon -- along with them, the scum left in their wake. There was a moment that seemed to last forever. It was when the toad watched as a bird of some sort swooped down to peck its dinner from the water. Normally, the panic below the surface would bring the pond to look like the contents of a witch's cauldron as they scattered to safety. Today, the pond was calm.

>>13515900
great!
by far the best

>>13515443
The wet bathing suit clung to his wet skin, and even the slight breeze slipped right through the thin fabric. A shiver crawled down from his scalp and slid down his spine into oblivion, and Toad looked after it, his gaze sliding slippery as the stone beneath him off into the distance.
The wet reminded him of the jungle, the wind in the grass of the ever creeping thread of death by gook. They were everywhere, but they weren't here. Seven years after he had walked out of the steaming undergrowth of bushes and bodies, they had taken Frog from him, had put a Colt Government Model in his mouth and pulled the trigger, left the door open for his wife to find three hours later, left Toad to deal with the aftermath.
He blinked, several swishes of his thin lidded eyes and was back. He spat to the side of the rock, jumped back into the black water, and never came back up.

The Tale of Ribbit the Frog, a Prose-Poem
Ribbit the froggo lived the on the far side of the swamp
It is there that he'd go on his daily romps
From lily pad to lily pad lept he
In search of flies to snack upon with glee.
Then one humid, sticky day, Earl the Eagle came his way.
Earl was hungry, and frogs he liked
Delight did he in swooping down for the strike
With sharp eye Earl spotted his quarry
Little did Ribbit know, as he hopped without care or worry.
Unfortunately there is a sad ending to this story
It ends in a matter rather gory.
Snapped up in razor talons did Ribbit go
His death painful, grotesque and slow.

>>13515443
Toad stands on small rock
He stares wanting something more
His suit is still wet

>>13517022
the black water had a portal into hollow earth where FROG MAN met the gaurdians of chaos and returned to the surface world to carry out destiny

>>13517068
kek, based FROG MAN
Thanks for fixing my story anon.

>>13515443
Old frog,
Climbs up hill.
Hop!

>>13515443
The toad stood still. All his dreams and wishes of yesteryear had vanished as the hoarfrost before the morning sun. The world is not the sum of facts, nor the sum of events, but a landscape of interrelationships; her departure meant one fewer thread passing through the toad-point. Nothing beside remained. One might consider the toad's relationship to his immediate neighbors--the fish in the pond, the flies swarming above the muck--but what interest lies in these? His relation to one fish was equal to his relation with another. That which can be replaced without cost is of no value. From this he could conclude two things: he had indeed lost something of worth, and he had nothing left.
this is what reading houellebecq does to you I guess

>>13518110
Makes you a bad writer?

>>13518137
something like that :^)

He had been on the run for six hours and could still hear the barking of dogs; he would sooner die than go back to Baton Penitentiary. He wondered what happened to Rigoberto. They agreed that if they were split during the escape that they would reconvene at their childhood creek, but the echoes of his wails through the tall reeds as the bullets flew by gave him little hope for reunion.

>>13518228
>6 hours
>still hears dogs
>calling for friend
>bullets flying by

>>13515443
I wonder if there is a loving god after all, gasped the toad, as he sees how the group of men in leather march towards him.
"You there!", one of them exclaim, "The chamber is waiting, will you go walking as a human or shall we shoot you like a pig?".
A single tear full of sorrow could be seen on Apfel's left eye. He started walking, singing that old lullaby that marked his childhood in Berlin, now broken and sour.
"Mother, father, please forgive me, the man sitting in the chair was not a good one, how many have died because of a speech?..."
Then some screams, and then the gunpowder flavored thunder.

>>13515443

>>13515443
You deceived me OP, I thought you were PrincetonToad!

>>13518295
Prince Tontoad

>>13518294
>tfw you will never be as good as some jackass spamming nigger on a Cantonese cigarette rolling forum

>>13516805
This good

>>13516904
Very beautiful

>>13516904
Good work

>>13515443

"My thought's aren't my own" he thought. Even that one seemed to have come from outside his own mind. Perplexed, the toad stood motionless on the hill.

It had started just this morning.

"Wait" he thought. "Was it this morning?" Somehow, the thought of how his troubles began were almost implanted in his brain. He could not remember that morning, or any part of his life before this single moment.

This was it. His entire existence was this moment. He wore a slightly confused expression, but did not know why. His eyes stared blankly outwards, but he could not see.

"No." he thought. "I am a man of my––" and his mind went blank.

There he was. Toad felt a sort of melancholy and adversely; reassurance and hope. The plump amphibian remembered his past journeys, seeming just as inconquerable as the bulbous monolith of a boulder beneath him to a simple ant.

>>13515443
"I ain't goin' back to prison", Toad whispered to himself. "I stole that car and took it on a joyride and drove it into the river, but I ain't goin' back. Badger and Mole and Ratty can't make me. I ain't goin' back."

He stared at the sun
And thought
"Tomorrow might be a great day"

>>13519239
aww, this is pleasant

>>13515443
The utter hopeless futile nature of life filled every inch of his slimy body with a calming sedative effect. Vacant eyes stared into the abyss of his moist lands he once roamed. With great speed, his eyes would latch onto you and you could not help yourself but to feel the pain he endured and how he misses the life he once had.
But he would do it again, just to caress the moist mucus membrane of a young tadpole. To feel so pure and perfect succulent poles is truly the most divine feeling known to frog

>>13519104
This is nice, anon.

OP, here. Here's some (you)'s for everyone who didn't get one.
>>13516861
This was cute, thank you.
>>13516963
Nice twist
>>13516965
Very vivid, nice
>>13517000
Very serene
>>13517033
:(
>>13517057
Lovely
>>13518070
Short and sweet
>>13518275
:(
>>13518875
I really felt for Toad here.
>>13519250
This made me smile
>>13519303
oh my

>>13515443
"could be niggers here"
"croak"

>>13516754
>>13516767

thanks for the advice ;)

mmmm time for mr froggy to lick all the flies

>>13520527
"with a pair of legs, you can jump anywhere."

>>13515443
The intense sunlight prickled on Toad's bumpy skin, and he shuddered. "Better to be out here than in there." he thought while looking down into the pond. On the surface, there was nothing, but that was what kept him wary. Every day of his life, a myriad of bugs and ripples would disturb the water, but for hours now, there was nothing. Being perched on a rock while watching this still life was tormenting his mind, and heating his skin to an unbearable temperature. But he was able to justify it to himself with fears of poison, of being eaten, of joining that motionless picture. So despite the writhing impatience within himself and being a hair away from jumping and running, he stood there, wishing for a sign of the life he was familiar with. With his eyes screaming for relief, he kept looking, and when he finally could not stand it for a second longer, Toad blinked. At least, he tried. The heat would have injured those delicate organs, so he was expecting his eyelids to rasp as they closed. They didn't shift at all though. The itch to move took root in every nerve in his body. And Toad realized the truth behind how he, such an impatient being, had watched the pond in fear for so long.

>>13519303
Almost didn't read it because of the heavy prose at the beginning, but really glad I did.

>>13522494
Leaves you to wonder what happened to the pond. Very good anon

toad jumps
water sounds
fuck frogs

The toad runs a warty hand along his head, utterly demoralized.

It was true, his pride allowed him to admit, that his tumble over the steamboat's balustrade could be attributed, in part, to the clumsiness of his garb. He also conceded that his thrashing in the current, which had caused him to lose his overcoat, was of a most un-amphibian nature.

Now, his true colors were revealed- those of an inmate. An inmate in the desolation of wilderness, his punishment to be meted out by capricious Fates.

His wife had recommended that he wear clothing evocative of prison, swearing that it was in vogue, but he desperately hoped it would not attract any disapproving glances (particularly from women). Police-men were no problem; he had money and connections aplenty.

Now, our brave toad lay on his ass by a thicket of ferns, staring lazily at the river-water rolling by. He fancied that he could spy nymphs frolicking in the depths, beckoning him closer while gurgling with stream-laughter, but he shook this notion off. A gust of cold air completely dispelled his fantasies and wholly brought him to.

In his right pocket, he noted, there was nothing but a depressing ball of lint. In his left pocket, however, he found a wrapped sweetmeat. He remembered his wife's disapproving glance when he stashed the thing in his pocket at last night's banquet. Immediately, to sate his hunger, he unwrapped the delicacy and planted it upon his tongue.

And yet, even with its taste on his lips, the rumbling would not stop. But was his stomach rumbling, or-

The toad tensed as he sensed a figure, poised to kill, skulking in the thicket nearby. He knew not what manner of animal it was, but he knew it to be his mortal enemy nonetheless. Without a moment to lose, he flung himself into the river and began to paddle with all his might.

"Dratted fool!" he cursed aloud, remembering his aversion to water.

And so, he coughed, spluttered, and splattered his way to a river bank where he lay supine, his chest heaving. In the fracas with the river's lascivious nymphs, he had lost both his shoes and parted with his pants. It seemed as though all he had left was his striped undergarments, silken and decorated with horizontal bars of black and white.

"I reckon I must cut quite a dashing figure," he thought, mistaking himself for some roguish subduer of nature. In fact, if he looked like an inmate before, he looked even more the part now. Little droplets of water pittered and pattered pathetically on the rock beneath his webbed feet, and he gazed forlornly at the falling sun, yearning after his world of luxury and comforts. However, that was not to be, and his situation would indubitably worsen by nightfall.

"How marvelous," he wondered aloud, staring at the cloud-herds migrating to their pens before the star-wolves emerged. The evocative scenery eased the flow of his poetic juices, and he forgot his discomfort.

>>13522566

What is life?

"Life is like a tart cherry," he whispered to himself. "It's sour and leaves one with nothing but a pit."

"Life is like a bottle of liquor," he whispered again, making a bed of leaves and grass for himself. "By the time you get to the bottom, you want more, but it's too late."

"Life is like a, like a..."

He eventually succumbed to sleep, unable to scour his mind for further comparisons. Eventually, his snoring joined the river's song.

>>13515443
In a moment of abject horror, the realisation of his bleak reality being subject to his intellect and not to an external force destroyed his will to live.

赤蛙
岩石の上
立ち尽くす

>>13515443
Chuck the toad would suck my chode lmao

>>13522719
>red rose
is Kaeru = Gaeru ?

>>13522744
>is Kaeru = Gaeru ?
Yeah, 連濁

Today has not been well for me. Upon further examination of myself I have concluded that am not just a toad, but also a nigger. I wonder what terrible things I might have done to deserve a hell like this...

>>13522759
>連濁
That is very interesting, thanks
also nice haiku

>>13515900
based

>>13515443
'ere the descent of the most igneous lump of tedium on which the frog was perched, he exclaimed vehemently "NIGGA PLEASE!"

Toad had just left his yoga class. Standing upon his favorite thinking rock he pondered. A virile sexual power flowed through veins as he looked out into the foggy distance. "I want frog pussy."

>>13522764
Hi, Lovecraft. Can you help me beat some bosses in Bloodborne tonight?

>>13515443
Ribbit.

Things had not quite gone according to plan. Toad was stranded, upon a rock it seemed. He had never swam before, and had decided to try out his new striped swimsuit in the river. Alas, he found he could not swim at all! With a clamber and a heave he pulled himself up onto a boulder in the river.

"Help! Help!" shouted toad,

But no one answered, toad was stranded out in the middle of the river.

"Toad, is that you?!" shouted a voice in the distance.

It was frog! He had seen that toad had left his house and came to see where he went!

"Thanks goodness you're here Frog, I wanted to try out my new swimsuit but I don't know how to swim."

"Hold on Toad, I have an idea!"

Frog ran over to a nearby tree, and pushed it into the river saving Toad.

The End

He was alone, without anybody in this world. He would kill someone for the revenge. Did he deserve to go to prison? It didn't matter now. He was out. And he wasn't going back any time soon. They had stalked him, harassed him, called his house a thousand times from different numbers and talked in a voice that sounded familiar but wouldn't say who they were or why they were calling. When he got him, it didn't matter if he went to hell for what he was going to do to get back at him.

I looked westward. Out past the pond and lillies that I’d seen from the prison window which was to me like an open wound that bled with everything that for so long I couldn’t touch. I was out now, I guess that’s what mattered most. But in these damp, striped clothes I couldn’t help but feel like a ghost. Mating season was over, and with the strength in my legs I’d lost from my time in the hole I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d even make it to the next one.
Maybe there was another pond where I could go. Maybe I could start again. And maybe it was just the the shape that my damp and dingy mind had twisted itself in all my time away... but maybe they’d see through it all wherever I went. That bit of weakness in my legs, the lump in my croak. The guilt behind the glassy eyes and just-off smile.
Maybe no matter how far I went, I couldn’t run from who I was, or what I’d done.
In the distance I watched the setting sun, and I wondered what lay past the lillies, and what was to come.