Frogs
Simon winced at the squelch, slowly raising his foot from the remains of the frog.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered shaking off the bits from his training shoe. “I didn’t even see it there. I hate killing stuff. I’ll never get the stain out.”
Oscar looked at the road ahead.
“I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Why not? Oh. Oh right.”
Dead frogs littered the factory road, so thick in places that the tarmac was barely visible. The assortment of colours and textures would have been beautiful, but their skin had turned dull and dry. A car was swerving to try and avoid them, and as the driver gave the wheel a sharp tug Simon heard the snap of an axle and crunching of gears. The car clattered to a halt in the lay-by, wing mirrors askew and paint peeling. The driver opened his door and uttered several swear words, gazing with despair at the sagging front wheels. He kicked at it and the door fell onto his foot, provoking another round of cursing.
“Recycling,” he spat. “’It’ll help the environment.’ Didn’t help the frogs did it?”
Oscar called over to him, “Aren’t you going to call a tow or something?”
The man turned to him, eyes narrowed.
“I would if my phone had any fucking battery power. Or working number keys. Or a speaker that didn’t fizz every time someone says the letter ‘F’.”
“Alright, calm down. We’ll call them.”
The signal faded in and out but eventually Simon got through to the operator, a man from Zimbabwe who told him in a broken English accent that the tug would appear in around half an hour. He let out a small squeal as he trod on another dead amphibian.
“For fuck’s sake!” He wiped his feet on a patch of grass by the lay-by. “What is it with all the frogs here? Aren’t they supposed to be in the reserve?”
“They’re migrating away from the pollution. Well, they were migrating. They’ll be the second of God’s creatures to die out after the bees went.”
“Well, can’t they cop it out of the fucking way?” Simon leaned on the dented hood of the car as he spied three more abandoned vehicles, including an articulated bus. A figure lay naked on the buses roof, catching the sun’s glare. Oscar peered at them. Simon followed his gaze.
“What...is that a person?”
“I think so”, said Oscar. “Looks like a ‘she’.”
“Sunbathing?”
Oscar gave him a look. “You alright?” he called.
A female voice drifted back to them, high and musical on the dusty air.
“Can you see a tow coming? I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“No such luck, you need anything?”
“Sun cream. Oh, and a new bus would be nice.”
Oscar snorted a laugh. The driver started pacing.
“Half an hour... why would it take half an hour?”
“They’re probably swamped right now: rush hour. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“How much do they charge?”
“No idea, probably a fair bit.”
The driver sat back on the front seats. “I remember when I had a new car. I real new one, where everything worked and it didn’t smell like other people’s cigarettes and arses.”
“Too right mate. Why do you think we’re walking?”
Simon continued to peer at the woman on the bus. Oscar ignored him and focused on the driver, dressed in a raggedy brown suit with a stained beige tie. Oscar forced himself not to wince at the distasteful combination of colours. The radio was still on in the car, blurred by static. A newsreader spoke gravely, more talk of pollution and the disappearance of the animal kingdom.
“The Chinese government has denied reports ... New Zealand have appealed to the United States for help as the navy draws closer to violating the Oceanic territories. President Burton is standing firm, telling the Chinese government that they have been warned... costly war in Afghanistan has left the American public... other news, the tree frog species has been confirmed extinct, with the European Fire Bellied Toad and Bullfrog species down to their last hundreds in captivity...”
“It’s an old suit.”
Oscar met the driver’s eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re looking at my suit like it just said it screwed your nan.”
Oscar laughed. “Sorry. I can’t help it. Recycled?”
“Yep, both suit and tie from different pensioners. Not all of us can afford new.”
Simon looked over his shoulder. “What did she say her name was?”
“She didn’t. Go talk to her if you want.”
Simon took a step, then stopped. “Nah, I‘d better wait here for the tow.”
Oscar gazed at the surrounding greenery, which was gradually turning a dirty shade of orange from the sun’s continued oppression. The bare bones of trees were scattered about the roadside, with homemade signs nailed or propped against them, all with the same message.
Repent!
The End is Nigh.
Look To God
Thanks for nothing Jesus.
Over the “G” on “God” pairs of soiled underpants were draped. Pessimism littered every roadside in the county, probably in the whole of Britain. The driver followed Oscar’s gaze.
“What do you reckon? Are we all doomed?”
Oscar continued to stare at the sign. “Looks like it. Remember when this place was a forest?”
“Sherwood Forest was never a forest, they just put that on the sign.”
“It was once.”
“Not in my lifetime. There’s always just been the factory, belching out dirty air and broken down cars.”
Oscar looked back at the squat building, upper half obscured by smoke. Grey and boring, the concrete behemoth sat faceless, accepting countless workers through its double doors on a daily basis. Such is life, he thought to himself. Mundane and dirty, with no aspirations or hopes. Everybody is just waiting for the end.
Simon started walking towards the bus with a slight spring in his step. Oscar smiled as he smoothed down stray strands of hair and checked his breath. The driver chuckled.
“Thinking with his cock is he?”
“Apparently so.”
“God bless him for that, hoping a little bit. You don’t see enough of hope.”
