You are special, you are alive, or at least you seem to be. I believe that, and so I’m trying to help you.
“Are you listening to me?”
I have no idea whether you have a purpose or not — every time you look like you’re going to move on, you pace back and forth in the same spot. You’re almost like a sleepwalker.
No matter where you go in the forest, the scenery never changes, but you just walk on, never tiring of it. This doesn’t seem like the type of laid-back place one would visit to go forest bathing, so you must just be going for a walk.
This boring period of time seems to last forever.
You suddenly stand completely still.
As if you’ve made a discovery.
There’s something hopping up and down right in front of you.
It’s a frog. Its form seems to shine brightly against the gloomy forest scenery. Like a jewel. A stout frog with a heavy sense of presence. It’s mysterious in the most pleasant way, like the vivacity of life itself.
In general, frogs denote the highest degree of good fortune in dreams. They are positive symbols of hope.
It seems things are finally heading in a good direction. It might be my imagination, but that’s how it seems.
Probably sick of wandering around the endless forest, you quickly head toward the frog. From where I’m standing, I can only see your back, but I think there’s likely a gleam in your eyes. You act that way toward the frog, and yet you don’t even notice me — it makes me feel a bit jealous.
You reach for the frog with both hands as it takes giant leaps, giving off a strong sense of presence amidst the dark woods. The frog barely resists, allowing you to take it. You snatch the frog’s forelegs somewhat violently, then stare at it as it dangles in front of you.
You tilt your head.
You’re standing completely still, so I follow you, crouch down behind you, and steady my breathing. And then, I watch attentively, but with caution. Something amazing might be about to happen.
However, no matter how long we wait, no surprise happens.
You toss away the frog in disappointment. You’re way too quick to lose interest. Are you a child? The frog smacks me in the face — it seems almost like you wanted to be scolded.
With the frog stuck to my face, I fall on my backside.
I peel off the annoying amphibian and hold him like a stuffed animal.
I call out to you.
“You know, I think this frog definitely has some sort of significance — why not investigate it a little further?”
The frog is acting so docile in the palm of my hand.
Like some wise man, it stands completely still, without inflating its chin or making a sound.
“It could be that this frog is some sort of key to solving the mystery of this dream—” I assert with all my might, but you steadily move on ahead.
Frustrated, I pull myself up and chase after you in small sprints. A vicious feeling starts to well up inside of me. I’m trying so hard, after all. You don’t seem to care.
I can’t take it.
You and I should be shouldering the same burdens. We should be working together.
I bring my face close to the frog’s rear end.
And then, I bring my lips close — and blow with all my might.
Like the cruel game that children in the country play, trying to make the frog explode.
Like a manifestation of happiness itself, the frog disappears, and you realize it. That you threw away something so important to you.
The frog expands. It becomes bigger and rounder, like a balloon. Almost unnaturally so. At that moment, the frog’s skin can endure no more and bursts open.
There is no splattering of blood and entrails. Instead, it’s more like someone popped their bubblegum.
“W-Well? What do you think?”
I don’t even know what I mean by that.
Maybe I too have become tired from walking on endlessly and have gone a little crazy.
And then I realize. The skin of the burst frog clings to your face. You stand completely still, dumbfounded.
“Ahh— I-I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
It’s as if we were students playing around in a classroom and end up breaking a glass. And then I shake and go pale, as if I’ve just realized my friend is bleeding because of it.
What in the world am I doing? This is so ridiculous. I reflect back on this, as if perhaps there’s some deeper meaning, but more importantly—
The skin of the frog slowly overtakes your entire face. It’s moving on its own, transforming you. On touching you, it goes from a sign of good fortune to something bad.
It looks like a frog mask. It’s as if your head has been transformed into a frog’s face — even the way your eyes bulge is so realistic. You touch your face and feel the sticky sensation, but it doesn’t seem like it will come off.
Having become a creepy frog-person, you look in my direction.
Maybe you’re finally aware of me.
You’re like a child who misbehaves in order to get a parent’s attention, and I gladly oblige. You wanted to be scolded, at least. You wanted the reaction of “You’re a bad girl, you’re terrible.”
That’s what I hope for, but since I’m invisible, there’s no way you can see me. So I pretend to fix my hair.
I turn and face you bashfully.
“I’m sorry. But you’ve been ignoring me this whole time—” I say, as if making an excuse.
You respond with: “Ribbit, ribbit.”
“Hmm?”
You open your mouth wide and stick out your long, thin tongue. It isn’t just that you’re wearing a mask — your insides have changed as well. You then place your hands on the ground and hop off into the thick patches of trees with a “boing, boing.”
“Hey, where are you going?!”
You leap away energetically, your croaking of “ribbit, ribbit” echoing into the forest.
“Wait up~!”
With no other option, I chase after you.
I really have no idea what’s going on anymore.
But it does feel like something has changed, just a bit.