“This was nice. We can meet again another time and
have more fun” said the girl leaned to the right a bit in a
charming little bow.
“Sure, we can go to places.” answered Ovolon.
“Yeah, do things! Explore the meadow. Discover the
whole oddness and the rareness and... and the indulging personalities
that we'll meet” she said and her voice gradually became a murmur
and her glare drifted to the sky lost in the reverie of imaginative
possibilities. “Anyway. Good day for now”
“Have a nice trip. We'll meet again for sure” smiled
Ovolon and did a courteous bow himself.
* * *
A
few days passed and the sky became the color of ripe tangerines. The
meadow was painted blue and filled with thigh high grass, while
flocks of constant grasshoppers leaped around, giving movement to the
otherwise motionless environment.
“Grasshoppers.
Hmm. Could they do?” she touched her chin with her forefinger
thinking. “It's pretty far away if I remember correctly.” she
looked across the meadow slightly closing her eyes to see better.
“No, no that won't do, we must have something bigger”
She
was particularly happy today and not for a specific reason. She had
just woken up fresh and rested and with a ribbon of adventurous mood
around her head. Maybe it was the orange sky to blame, which made her
mind flowing with creative vitality, or maybe a glimpse of a possible
future shown to her in a dream the night before seeded her
motivation. Either way, now she was slipping around her tree hill in
a speedy way looking around the soil and searching the holes for
something bigger than a grasshopper.
“Oh
there you are mister!” she exclaimed triumphantly and with both
hands pulled out of a hole a small frog. She held him in front of her
face and looked him in the eyes. “Hullo!” she said with a silly
voice trying to make a frog-face. The frog looked her back and
changed his hue to the color of the girl's skin. This kind of frogs
are the most suitable for the job, she thought. Using their
camouflage they can slip away the predating flying squallors, since
they are literally passing in front their beaky faces. With the frog
still in hand, she reached a big root under her tree, leaned under
and pulled out an elaborate mechanical contraption the size of her
head. It was made out of bolts and gears and featured a revolving
ratchet lever on one side, two curly metal springs set side to side
in the middle and a convoluted sum of many calibrating gears on the
other side. She placed the contraption on the ground and carefully
mounted the frog on, fitting his legs inside the metal springs.
“Alright,
now you wait here for a while. I won't be long.” she said and
returned to the tree's roots. The frog turned his gaze away
indifferently, looking down to this petty talk. He was here solely
for business and his haughty attitude would continue as long as his
price wasn't payed. In advance of course. The particular line of work
includes many dangers to it's practitioners and Mr Frog had a family,
and might have mental anguish expenses to cover.
After
a while the girl returned with a paper note in one hand and a glass
jar, in which a mosquito of the genus of worthwhiles buzzed, in the
other.
“Here
you go Mr. Frog, enjoy your delicacy” said the girl opening the
jar, and as the mosquito skyrocketed to freedom it, met a sticky
green tongue which pulled it right inside Mr. Frog's mouth. She
rolled the piece of paper in her hand, pulled an orange ribbon from
inside her hair and tied it around the little green projectile's
neck, while he still savored the sweet taste of the mosquito combined
with a bitter metallic taste of blood. That's how I like my payment,
helpless and with a full stomach, thought Mr. Frog and licked his
swollen lips.
“Ok
and now for the tricky job.”
She
spend a few minutes revolving the gears and rearranging their place
on the side of the contraption. From time to time she stopped to
carefully look at the distance and slightly swift the position of her
messaging device to the right or to the left.
“Done!”
she said after a while with a victorious look, proud of herself for
her impeccable calibrating skills. She started giving the ratchet
lever some turns with increasing speed, counting in her head
backwards from one hundred and thirty-eleven good ways, which she
calculated was the distance needed for her message to reach the
receiver. Then, she abruptly stopped and the cogs started spinning,
giving momentum to the metal springs and launching Mr. Frog towards
the horizon.
“Off
you go! Have a nice flight! She waved as the frog turned orange and
disappeared into the orange sky.
*
* *
Ovolon
took the frog right in the face.
Startled
and temporarily blinded, he stepped back and stumbled on the pot of
stew he was preparing, throwing it over and drenching himself with
the steaming soup. “Aaaah.” he cried and fell on the ground in an
X position, with the frog, who was now changing his color from orange
to fleshlike, still stuck on his face. Nothing moved. After a brief
moment of total stillness, he removed the frog with a swift thrust of
his hand and opened wide all his facial holes, gasping for air.
“Woah,
some precise mail that is.” he admitted after he got himself
together.
He
took the rolled paper off Mr. Frog's neck and bid him farewell.
He
raised his right brow and turned his gaze in wonder towards the
horizon as he carefully unrolled the letter.
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