A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river.
“To be honest,” said the desert rain frog. “I’m the wrong kind of frog for that.”
“I was hoping to find someone to carry me across, myself.” It admitted.
“Oh,” The scorpion said. “Well, we can wait together.”
And they sat, and spoke, and when a turtle happened to pass along, they both ventured together, and the scorpion was too busy sharing words to ever think of stinging.
“Actually,” said the scorpion, as it climbed onto the frog’s back, “My sting is harmless.”
“Oh really?” Said the frog, as it began to swim.
“Yes,” the scorpion waved the small stinger about. “The poison is useless to anything larger than a beetle. I can’t threaten you with it at all, you see, so you don’t really need to worry about it at all.”
The frog, now freed from the fear of death, began preparing to dive.
“Although,” the scorpion continued as it felt the frog slow down, “do not think me entirely defenceless.”
“Why not?” Said the frog. “All you have is your claws. And they aren’t sharp enough to pierce my skin.”
“No, they are not,” agreed the scorpion, getting a good hold of the frog’s shoulders. “But they are strong. They need to be, to hold my prey so my weak venom has time to work.”
“But they will not kill me.”
“No. But there are other ways to hurt.” The scorpion tightened its grip, letting the teeth of its claws sink into the skin.
“You will drown me, of course, but my claws will remain locked. My drowned corpse will hang over your shoulders, right here, claws buried in you. And everyone who sees you will see it. And they will see my frail little body, and my weak little stinger. And you will drown me, yes, but for the rest of your life everyone will know that you took the life of a creature that was no danger to you for no greater sin than that you did not want to grant them passage. You will never escape the weight of me on your back, waiting to be carried to the afterlife you delivered me to.”
The frog was silent, for a while, before it continued to swim. “I think I would have preferred you with a stinger that worked.”
The scorpion relaxed its grip. “And I would have preferred to not have to use it.”
“Do you know how many times we’ve done this?” Asked the frog, eyes flicking back to its passenger. “I can’t remember how long it’s been.”
“A million lives.” Purred the scorpion, claws nestled up to the frog’s neck. “A million lives now, with this one. And it never matters until we’re here.”
“I’m glad it’s us.” Said the frog, letting the tide sweep it away. “I’m glad even after a million lives, we always find each other.”
The scorpion clung tight, even as the water seeped into its carapace. “I’d never die with anyone else, my love.”
Hopelessly entangled, they faded into oblivion.
A chicken stood at the edge of a road, watching the cars go by.
“Is this all there is?” It asked.
“I don’t know.” Said the fox across from it, brushing some grass from it’s foot.
“But it might be nice to find out.”
-but no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river did a great catfish rise up, mouth so wide they could not escape.
“Oh, foolish frog and foolish bug.” It said, voice full of pity as it swallowed them both. “Your eyes glued to the most obvious threat, did you never think there were greater things to fear in a river as deep and wide as this?”
And the catfish swam off, to find more frogs to devour.
“Sorry?” The scorpion paused, confused. “Sting you? Why on earth would I do that?
“Well,” said the frog. “It’s in your nature to, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all!” The scorpion said, voice tinged with insult. “We don’t run around stabbing everything we see. That’s a good way to start a fight you can’t win. A stinger is just for catching food and fending off predators, really. It’s no more my nature to sting everything as it is your nature to drown everything. And you don’t do that, do you!”
The frog scowled, petulant at the tone. “Well, the scorpion I usually see here almost always stings me…”
“That seems like you’re projecting problems with one scorpion onto every scorpion you meet.” Said the scorpion. “I’m not really sure I trust you to take me across the river, frankly. Do you know if there’s another frog who could help?”
The frog grumbled, and slipped into the water.
The chicken stood on the banks of the river with it’s children. A fox sat on the other bank, with a bag of corn.
“Hoy, chicken.” Shouted the fox. “Do you ever think you might be stuck in a rut?”
“What’s it to you?” The chicken said, flapping a wing in annoyance. “My life is my own business, fox.”
The fox shrugged, pawing at the corn. “I just feel like I can’t get out of this cycle,” it said with a sigh. “Like my life is stuck on rails.”
“On rails?” The scorpion asked. “What do you mean?”
“My whole life is just this river-”
“And it feels like it doesn’t change. It feels like I’m always just here. In the river, with you.”
“Is it such a bad place to be?” Asked the fox.
“How long do you think the river has been here?” Asked the scorpion.
The frog thought about that until the poison had seeped into its bones.
“As long as us,” it whispered, as its lungs gave out. “As long as we’ve needed it.”
“You’re not swimming right.” Said the scorpion, pinching the frog’s arm.
“You need to kick round with the back legs, push with the front, like this-” gently, it pushed the frog’s limbs into the correct position.
“Oh, thank you.” Said the frog. “I’m no good at this. I’ve never been a frog before.”
“You’re doing brilliantly, my dear.” The scorpion said, trying to reassure. “I would have taught you earlier if I could have.”
“And I would have taught you to walk.” The frog laughed, kicking much stronger now. “If only I’d known you didn’t know! I saw you stumbling over the sands there.”
“I’ve never had so many legs!” The scorpion wailed. “How do you manage them all? And the eyes!”
They were not making it across the river very fast.
“I don’t mind only having two eyes.” The frog admitted. “I could get used to it.”
Despite the tutoring, the frog was getting exhausted, weak muscles failing in strong currents.
The scorpion tried to kick at the water, but its frail carapace only dredged in the currents, dragging them both down further.
“Oh, we’re no good at it this way around.” The scorpion said with a shake of its tail, claws clinging so strongly to the frog’s gossamer skin that it ripped open, spilling the entrails like ruby ribbons into the depths.
The frog laughed, choking on the water it didn’t know how to breathe. “I can’t swim, and you won’t sting! Oh, how our natures fail us still!”
And the river claimed them both once more.
“Do you remember a time before the riverbank?” Asked the fox.
“Do you remember anything after it?” The Chicken countered, head stuck in the bag of corn as it ate its fill. “Is there anything but the pursuit of what we will never grasp?”
“Maybe we will grasp it,” the fox’s voice was tinged with hope, tail tucked tightly around its legs. “Maybe one day, we will be more than our natures, and we will not have to cross the river again.”
“I like the thrill of it.” Said the chicken. “I’d miss the thrill of it.”
The fox sighed, and lowered its head down to the chicken, already doomed to bite. “But still, wouldn’t it be nice?”
But alas, the rains had been heavy, and the river bank had become swollen and wide.
The frog kicked for what felt like an eternity, the scorpion holding steady on its back.
Eventually it could swim no longer, and its legs seized up, as it gasped for air.
“I’m sorry, my love-” the frog wheezed. “I don’t think I can make it-”
“It’s okay.” The scorpion’s voice was soft with sadness, knowing now that it was doomed to die. “I didn’t know it would be so hard. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
“It’s not your fault,” said the frog, as the currents began to sweep them both downstream. “I wanted to help, I- I really thought I could get you there, I, we were so close -”
“We really were, weren’t we?” The scorpion’s hold on the frog was loosening, as its head swam from lack of oxygen. “We almost made it, we really did…”
The frog wailed in grief as the scorpion’s body was torn away, swallowed by the churning rapids.
A scorpion walked across an old riverbed. The smooth pebbles had long laid bare, the river dried up thousands of years ago.
It paused in the middle, overcome with a strange pain in its chest, and decided to turn back.
It felt wrong to cross this river alone.
“Where do you think the cars go?” Asked the fox.
The chicken watched a car drive by, seeing the shadowy shapes move within. “I try not to think about it. I want to be happy with my lot in life.”
-and no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river when the scorpion tapped its stinger against the frog’s back to get its attention.
“Hey,” said the scorpion. “I’m not really in that much of a rush, and it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we just go up the river instead? I’ve always wanted to try standing on a lilypad.”
“Sure, if you’d like.” Said the frog. “I don’t have any plans for the day.
And while the river remained uncrossed, neither of them were unhappy about this.
“When did you know you loved me?” Asked the turtle, as the scorpion clung onto its back, hiding from the deep currents of the river.
The scorpion winced as a wave shook them. “Oh, from the start.” it said, shaking water from its tail. “Or near enough. I’d never met a frog before. And even though you didn’t know me, you laid your life on the line for me. For hope that the impossible was possible.”
The turtle considered that, thinking back across its many lives.
“I don’t think I knew I loved you until recently.” The turtle admitted, lifting its head from the water so its voice could be soft. “It took time, I think, to know. But that said, why else would I come back, time and time again to the same spot of the same river?”
“You have a world of rivers you could be in, my love.” The scorpion agreed. “And yet I always wait for you here. And you always come.”
“I’ve never been as vulnerable as I’ve been with you.” Even as the water licked up its shell, the turtle continued to swim. “I’d never trust my life to anyone else.”
“Here’s to us,” said the scorpion, raising its stinger. “And the river.”
“Here’s to us.” Said the turtle, raising a flipper to sting. “I hope we always find each other.”
“Well here we are,” said the frog to the scorpion. “The other side.”
“Here we are.” The scorpion agreed, slowly climbing off its back. “Thank you, for all of this.”
“Thank you for choosing me.” Said the frog. “Thank you for chaining my lives together. For helping me remember the infinity of Us.”
The scorpion didn’t answer, simply looking up, letting the sun warm its carapace.
“I’ve never really left the river.” The frog took another step onto the bank. “It’s… nice.”
The scorpion turned. For a moment, the frog felt the surge of adrenaline as it felt a pinch on its skin, only to find the scorpion had clasped its claw around their hand. “Come with me.” It pleaded, voice soft with urgency. “Come with me, and don’t say no. I won’t leave this river without you. We can see the other side together.”
Those claws could slice, but they were only firm. The river was only the river. But from the banks the frog could see a jungle of lush green, vibrant with life beyond its knowledge. It laughed. “I’ve always wondered what it was like out there.”
And the river was silent, with no moral questions to burden it.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
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