I don’t go in for New Year’s resolutions much. To me, the idea of setting myself up to fail so early on seems daft. This time, I’ve already had an unsuccessful dabble with vegetarianism and my attempt to get into jazz has come to an abrupt halt. I did promise myself was that I’d try to write more but, for the most part, I’ve picked up 2016 where I left 2015, watching Netflix and contemplating diets. This is one of the few things I’ve managed to write, and it’s a submission for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Erin Leary for the picture.
The Frog Prince had tried, but he’d never enjoyed court life. He hadn’t taken to the pomp or the pageantry and could never be sure which was which. The princess, too, though sweet enough, had never been able to satisfactorily disguise the fact her eyes were insufficiently protuberant and that her tongue, at full stretch, came down no further than the point of her chin. So, when she caught him, one day, naked on all fours in the bathtub, eating flies with his, rather longer, tongue, he’d accepted the resulting divorce with something like equinamity.
Free at last, he had only to find a way of reversing his transformation. Over the months which followed he irked a lot of witches and learned that the common frog is so named for a reason. In the end, he was forced to promise exclusive rights to his toes to a wizened enchantress, but he’d secured what he wanted. It was time for the Prince Frog to return to the lily pond. He might be hopping more than before, but the future was wide open.