a something I wrote for a cbc contest

The topic was Unusual Childhoods (how could I not enter that):

I, the frog, did not notice the water set to boil. Most days, I was too busy climbing up into the rafters, hanging 8 ft. over cement floors, listening to The Rolling Stones, laughing at my brother swinging like a monkey, and ignoring my sister doing the dishes. We were the Lord and Ladies of Stark’s Bog ruling over all we surveyed – cast iron wood stove, kerosene lamps, piles of books and records . Out the window there was the dribbling creek, the “throne”, both geodesic domes, and the Bog, herself, replete with leeches and rickety dock. Other mornings, I was busy finding the royal bed chamber empty, supplies low, and the counting house sacked. On those days I was rallied into action, as meals were wrung out of oatmeal, water jugs packed home and doors guarded against marauders. All the while, too busy looking forward to a jubilant return, complete with bands of minstrels who might sit around spinning tales while they pulled dragons into their lungs, held them there, saved me from the pungent odour. Other times, I was too busy getting up late in the night to fetch oysters and clams from under the noses of trolls, who shone their lights from across the bay but couldn’t find me statue still on the beach searching after bubble trails. I was always too busy to notice that my overalls didn’t match the cords of my classmates, and too busy to notice that not every frog grows up royal.