Urgh! I'm so sorry! I know I should be working on LPN, but this got written and I can't not upload it. Tell me what you think please.
Francis Bonnefoy kicked at the dirt. He hated this country. Just because he wasn't from here, he was called a frog. The puns about it had long grown old.
"Hey, frog! Hungry for some flies?"
"Hey, frog! Better be careful, I saw some storks flying around recently."
"I don't serve amphibians."
"Eww! It's a frog! Somebody kill it!"
"Frog legs are a delicacy here. Better hop away before we catch you!"
"Why don't you go back to the swamp where you belong?"
He kept walking, ignoring the stones and dirt clods that were thrown at him. He had long since learned to ignore everyone. Arguing or responding only made it worse.
"Ribbet! Ribbet! Why are you so slow, Mr. Froggy?"
"Hop! Hop! Hoppity Hop!"
He groaned and kept walking, trying to ignore the children. He honestly had no idea why he had come to this country. His kind was never welcomed, and it was impossible to disguise himself either. His distinctive clothes gave him away. But, unlike most, he had been lucky. At least he was still alive. Then, a rock hit him in the head. He stumbled, gasping as he felt something warm running down the side of his face.
"Haha! So frogs can bleed. I didn't think their blood would be red!" He stumbled, vision beginning to flicker. He kept walking, trying to ignore the continuing taunts.
"Let's take him back to the swamp where he belongs!"
"Charge!"
Another rock hit him in the back. He started walking faster. "Look at it!"
"It's running!"
"Let's sic the dogs on it!"
He heard the barking and started to really fear for his life. He broke into a run and ran for his life. He knew where they were chasing him, but he knew he had no chance of survival unless he really did run to the swamp. Putting on another burst of speed, he crossed the town boundaries. A few more steps and he entered the mire. He stumbled through the mud and forced his way farther into the swamp. He glanced behind him and saw the boys holding the dogs back at the edge of the mire. He turned back and was startled by a splash near him. They were throwing rocks again. He stumbled out of their range, wading through chest-high mud. He thought he was safe when his foot slipped on something and he plunged into the mire.
He floundered around, struggling to stay afloat, but the ground was too slippery and there was nothing to hold onto. His vision began flickering again and the darkness of the mire consumed him and he knew no more.
There you go, kinda short, more of a preview/prologue. And it's France! LOL. I don't often write France. But, hey, there's always a first time for everything. Review, let me know what you think, give me feedback, etc.
