Ok, a few things. Firstly, I’ve not posted for the last couple days because I was on a hitchhiking trip up to Glasgow and back. It was very fun and if you care to read about it, you can do so at http://wanderingstoriesblog.weebly.com/blog/thumbs-out-to-glasgow
Secondly, I’m running low on prompts! You guys were brilliant and furnished me with loads of good ones, and I’m loving writing all these stories! Keep them coming!
Thirdly, this was a very strange prompt. I was chatting to someone on a community forum and they asked me ‘what, just any prompt?’ and I said yes. They replied with ‘Ok, write this - You're being held hostage by a frog wearing a hat made of torches and try to escape.’ So I did. Let it never be said I don’t rise to a challenge. Here goes.
I awoke with a start. Around me was the guttural croaking cries of my captors, moving about the cave this way and that, a flurry of activity. I lay still and quiet, eyes screwed shut, as if by willing myself I could be in a different place. No such luck. Slowly, carefully, I cracked open my eyes, peering through my lashes at my surroundings. Each eyelash made a strand of shadow across my sight so that it looked, ironically, like I was looking through prison bars. None of the figures moving this way and that were taking any notice of me, and the bow-legged guard was looking disinterestedly in the opposite direction. Clearly they had not expected that I, or any of my fellow prisoners, would wake so soon. I flicked my eyes to the left, then to the right, trying to discern more about where I was. Next to me lay another half-dozen figures, still unconscious and unmoving. To my right was a wicker fence which extended to surround our little prison compound. The guard stood across the only entrance. As I watched, heavy-lidded, a silence fell over the camp and all of the figures stopped moving, looking upwards. Our guard looked as well, and as I followed his gaze I saw a fat fruit-fly buzzing lazily across the encampment. Its buzzing was the only sound that could be heard, and I saw the guard track the insect with his eyes, until suddenly there was a cacophonous snapping sound, like dozens of elastic bands being released at once, and dozens of pink wet tongues flew out of the mouths of our captors towards the fly. One lucky tongue caught the fly and retracted, pulling the hapless insect into the mouth of the waiting frog. Our guard, and the other unlucky reptiles, resumed their duties disappointedly, while the successful frog chewed loudly and enthusiastically on his morsel.
I returned my gaze to my own predicament, slightly tensing my muscles to test the ropes with which I had been bound. They refused to budge an inch, and when I twitched my foot a bolt of muted pain shot up my leg. Despite my dead leg, and the bonds holding my arms, I took solace in the fact that I was awake and had not been discovered. I knew that if the frogs knew that I was conscious they would soon see to it that I was not. I wormed carefully over, inch by agonising inch, to my nearest sleeping companion, and with the leg that still had some feeling to it, I gently kicked her. She resolutely refused to wake up, and I was afraid that if I moved too quickly the guard would see. I inched back to my original position and started, painstakingly, to examine the wicker fence. It was short, about ¾ my height, and was roughly made. I spotted, near the bottom of the fence, a broken jutting-out piece of wood, and this I hoped would be my salvation. Slowly I brought my hands up to the snagged stick, and began to saw my rope across the rougher edge. My endeavour seemed to take an age, and every time I made a slightly louder than normal noise I would drop my hands and close my eyes, dreading every second the feel of the guard’s spear at my throat, and the glint of his headpiece on my retinas.
This didn’t happen, however, and suddenly with a snap my bonds broke. I could move my hands. Now to address my feet. All the time while I had been working at my ropes, I had also be flexing and tensing my leg muscles, sending shooting spasms of pain burrowing up my body. Now, I turned my full attention to my dead leg, and dropping my hands down to my lap, I started to massage my thigh. I had to bite my tongue in order to keep from crying out, as the feeling returned to my leg in the form of stabbing pain. The pins and needles raced up from my foot to my hip and turned my leg into a patchwork of fiery wounds. Eventually, however, the pain subsided and when I tensed the muscles, I felt nothing but the bunching of my calf. I could move again.
Next I had to work out my escape route. If I just bolted, then I would quickly raise the suspicion of my guard, who’s headdress of torches and lanterns would banish any welcome shadows I tried to hide in. Besides him, I didn’t know what strange and appropriated accoutrements his fellow frogs would have – firearms being my main concern, but my fevered imagination also supplying hunting dogs, vehicles and horses, and even thoughts of a helicopter filled my mind before I suppressed them. Whatever the case, I knew that simply running for it would not serve me at all. Instead, I returned my attention to the wicker fence, and the imperfection that I’d used to sever my bonds. I pulled at it, and it came away fairly easy. This, then, would be my escape route. I picked at the rough wood, and managed to pull away enough of a hole that I would, with difficulty, be able to slip through.
Now came my greatest challenge. I had to know what was on the other side of the fence. The guard was looking the other way, and beyond him the other frogs were all still busy building something. Carefully, noiselessly, I pulled my legs underneath me and rose to a squat, then slowly straightened until I was looking over the fence. Here I found luck was with me again. My hole led to behind one of the frog’s mud huts, a narrow alleyway between the hut’s back wall and the stone wall of the cave. It would be tight, but there was room for me. I sank down onto my haunches again, and pulled back the loose wood. Shooting one last glance at the guard, with his terrible helmet of torches, I slipped through the gap and was away.
In the dark of the alleyway I paused. Although my escape route had so far taken me a grand total of about 3 yards, I was breathing heavily, and stopped to catch my breath. Ahead of me the alleyway disappeared into darkness, but a faint lighter patch in the gloom about 30 paces away told me that it rejoined the main village. I had 30 paces to figure out my next move, and crept along them stealthily. As I approached the end of the alleyway, I realised that the patch of lighter gloom ahead was the cave entrance! I quickened my pace, then suddenly stopped. Between freedom and me was a clearing, and in the clearing was the object of the frog’s activity.
There, in the middle of a large group of reptiles, was a bonfire. It was squat and square and there were 7 poles rising up out of it. I thought back to the enclosure that had held us – the 7 of us – captive. It didn’t take a great deal of thought to put 2 and 2 together. We were to be burned. Sacrificed maybe. Not only that, the frog’s anger at discovering one of their captives had escaped would be tremendous.
As if to lend credence to my words, a roar of outrage swelled up from behind me. The frogs had clearly discovered my escape, and they would be after me in seconds. I had a split-second choice – break out to the right and delve further into the cave in the hope I could lose them in the maze of tunnels, break left and across the clearing, past the reptiles and out of the cave into safety, or back into the alleyway and look for a dark hiding place. A quick glance behind me put paid to that last idea, as I saw the torch-hatted frog pushing his way through the fence, dispelling the shadows in the alleyway with his bright headgear. My mind made up, I set off at a run, and turned left at the end of the alleyway.
Most of the frogs had crowded around the prisoner enclosure but there were still a good number in the bonfire cavern, and my sudden appearance sent loud croaks of alarm through their ranks. I charged at the crowd, and this belligerent behaviour caused them to instinctively step back, clearing a path for me to the bonfire. Their amazement that I was headed towards the instrument of my demise was short-lived, however, and they closed behind me as I scampered up the side of the bonfire, sending logs and twigs cascading down onto the enraged mass below. I crested the top and looked around me wildly. Behind me, the frogs milled and swirled in a great crowd, croaking and stamping in consternation. At the back of the crowd, I saw the torch-headed frog pushing his way through his fellows, followed by a group of bigger, burlier frogs. As they approached, I could see they carried bows, and I didn’t want to be around when they got in range. I fixed my eyes on the cave entrance, now almost as dark as the walls as dusk turned into night outside, and started to scrabble down the side of the bonfire. Behind me, a cry rose up from the angry frogs and I knew I would have seconds before the fastest of the reptiles rounded the bonfire and were upon me. Reaching the bottom, I set off at a dead run up the steep slope towards the entrance. Behind me, fat webbed fingers grasped wildly at the space I’d just been in, and I could feel the breath of the creatures in full pursuit.
Lungs heaving, arms waving, I made it to the lip of the entrance and beyond. Half-falling down the slope on the other side, through ferns and trees, I heard the receding sounds of the frogs, lining the entrance but not daring to step into the forest at night. I slowed down, then flung myself to the ground as something wet and quick slapped me in the back. It was the torch-hatted frog, sending one last parting tongue at me, but I was too far and too heavy to be snared in such a way. I turned to look at the angry crowd, then set off into the safety of the dark forest.
Secondly, I’m running low on prompts! You guys were brilliant and furnished me with loads of good ones, and I’m loving writing all these stories! Keep them coming!
Thirdly, this was a very strange prompt. I was chatting to someone on a community forum and they asked me ‘what, just any prompt?’ and I said yes. They replied with ‘Ok, write this - You're being held hostage by a frog wearing a hat made of torches and try to escape.’ So I did. Let it never be said I don’t rise to a challenge. Here goes.
I awoke with a start. Around me was the guttural croaking cries of my captors, moving about the cave this way and that, a flurry of activity. I lay still and quiet, eyes screwed shut, as if by willing myself I could be in a different place. No such luck. Slowly, carefully, I cracked open my eyes, peering through my lashes at my surroundings. Each eyelash made a strand of shadow across my sight so that it looked, ironically, like I was looking through prison bars. None of the figures moving this way and that were taking any notice of me, and the bow-legged guard was looking disinterestedly in the opposite direction. Clearly they had not expected that I, or any of my fellow prisoners, would wake so soon. I flicked my eyes to the left, then to the right, trying to discern more about where I was. Next to me lay another half-dozen figures, still unconscious and unmoving. To my right was a wicker fence which extended to surround our little prison compound. The guard stood across the only entrance. As I watched, heavy-lidded, a silence fell over the camp and all of the figures stopped moving, looking upwards. Our guard looked as well, and as I followed his gaze I saw a fat fruit-fly buzzing lazily across the encampment. Its buzzing was the only sound that could be heard, and I saw the guard track the insect with his eyes, until suddenly there was a cacophonous snapping sound, like dozens of elastic bands being released at once, and dozens of pink wet tongues flew out of the mouths of our captors towards the fly. One lucky tongue caught the fly and retracted, pulling the hapless insect into the mouth of the waiting frog. Our guard, and the other unlucky reptiles, resumed their duties disappointedly, while the successful frog chewed loudly and enthusiastically on his morsel.
I returned my gaze to my own predicament, slightly tensing my muscles to test the ropes with which I had been bound. They refused to budge an inch, and when I twitched my foot a bolt of muted pain shot up my leg. Despite my dead leg, and the bonds holding my arms, I took solace in the fact that I was awake and had not been discovered. I knew that if the frogs knew that I was conscious they would soon see to it that I was not. I wormed carefully over, inch by agonising inch, to my nearest sleeping companion, and with the leg that still had some feeling to it, I gently kicked her. She resolutely refused to wake up, and I was afraid that if I moved too quickly the guard would see. I inched back to my original position and started, painstakingly, to examine the wicker fence. It was short, about ¾ my height, and was roughly made. I spotted, near the bottom of the fence, a broken jutting-out piece of wood, and this I hoped would be my salvation. Slowly I brought my hands up to the snagged stick, and began to saw my rope across the rougher edge. My endeavour seemed to take an age, and every time I made a slightly louder than normal noise I would drop my hands and close my eyes, dreading every second the feel of the guard’s spear at my throat, and the glint of his headpiece on my retinas.
This didn’t happen, however, and suddenly with a snap my bonds broke. I could move my hands. Now to address my feet. All the time while I had been working at my ropes, I had also be flexing and tensing my leg muscles, sending shooting spasms of pain burrowing up my body. Now, I turned my full attention to my dead leg, and dropping my hands down to my lap, I started to massage my thigh. I had to bite my tongue in order to keep from crying out, as the feeling returned to my leg in the form of stabbing pain. The pins and needles raced up from my foot to my hip and turned my leg into a patchwork of fiery wounds. Eventually, however, the pain subsided and when I tensed the muscles, I felt nothing but the bunching of my calf. I could move again.
Next I had to work out my escape route. If I just bolted, then I would quickly raise the suspicion of my guard, who’s headdress of torches and lanterns would banish any welcome shadows I tried to hide in. Besides him, I didn’t know what strange and appropriated accoutrements his fellow frogs would have – firearms being my main concern, but my fevered imagination also supplying hunting dogs, vehicles and horses, and even thoughts of a helicopter filled my mind before I suppressed them. Whatever the case, I knew that simply running for it would not serve me at all. Instead, I returned my attention to the wicker fence, and the imperfection that I’d used to sever my bonds. I pulled at it, and it came away fairly easy. This, then, would be my escape route. I picked at the rough wood, and managed to pull away enough of a hole that I would, with difficulty, be able to slip through.
Now came my greatest challenge. I had to know what was on the other side of the fence. The guard was looking the other way, and beyond him the other frogs were all still busy building something. Carefully, noiselessly, I pulled my legs underneath me and rose to a squat, then slowly straightened until I was looking over the fence. Here I found luck was with me again. My hole led to behind one of the frog’s mud huts, a narrow alleyway between the hut’s back wall and the stone wall of the cave. It would be tight, but there was room for me. I sank down onto my haunches again, and pulled back the loose wood. Shooting one last glance at the guard, with his terrible helmet of torches, I slipped through the gap and was away.
In the dark of the alleyway I paused. Although my escape route had so far taken me a grand total of about 3 yards, I was breathing heavily, and stopped to catch my breath. Ahead of me the alleyway disappeared into darkness, but a faint lighter patch in the gloom about 30 paces away told me that it rejoined the main village. I had 30 paces to figure out my next move, and crept along them stealthily. As I approached the end of the alleyway, I realised that the patch of lighter gloom ahead was the cave entrance! I quickened my pace, then suddenly stopped. Between freedom and me was a clearing, and in the clearing was the object of the frog’s activity.
There, in the middle of a large group of reptiles, was a bonfire. It was squat and square and there were 7 poles rising up out of it. I thought back to the enclosure that had held us – the 7 of us – captive. It didn’t take a great deal of thought to put 2 and 2 together. We were to be burned. Sacrificed maybe. Not only that, the frog’s anger at discovering one of their captives had escaped would be tremendous.
As if to lend credence to my words, a roar of outrage swelled up from behind me. The frogs had clearly discovered my escape, and they would be after me in seconds. I had a split-second choice – break out to the right and delve further into the cave in the hope I could lose them in the maze of tunnels, break left and across the clearing, past the reptiles and out of the cave into safety, or back into the alleyway and look for a dark hiding place. A quick glance behind me put paid to that last idea, as I saw the torch-hatted frog pushing his way through the fence, dispelling the shadows in the alleyway with his bright headgear. My mind made up, I set off at a run, and turned left at the end of the alleyway.
Most of the frogs had crowded around the prisoner enclosure but there were still a good number in the bonfire cavern, and my sudden appearance sent loud croaks of alarm through their ranks. I charged at the crowd, and this belligerent behaviour caused them to instinctively step back, clearing a path for me to the bonfire. Their amazement that I was headed towards the instrument of my demise was short-lived, however, and they closed behind me as I scampered up the side of the bonfire, sending logs and twigs cascading down onto the enraged mass below. I crested the top and looked around me wildly. Behind me, the frogs milled and swirled in a great crowd, croaking and stamping in consternation. At the back of the crowd, I saw the torch-headed frog pushing his way through his fellows, followed by a group of bigger, burlier frogs. As they approached, I could see they carried bows, and I didn’t want to be around when they got in range. I fixed my eyes on the cave entrance, now almost as dark as the walls as dusk turned into night outside, and started to scrabble down the side of the bonfire. Behind me, a cry rose up from the angry frogs and I knew I would have seconds before the fastest of the reptiles rounded the bonfire and were upon me. Reaching the bottom, I set off at a dead run up the steep slope towards the entrance. Behind me, fat webbed fingers grasped wildly at the space I’d just been in, and I could feel the breath of the creatures in full pursuit.
Lungs heaving, arms waving, I made it to the lip of the entrance and beyond. Half-falling down the slope on the other side, through ferns and trees, I heard the receding sounds of the frogs, lining the entrance but not daring to step into the forest at night. I slowed down, then flung myself to the ground as something wet and quick slapped me in the back. It was the torch-hatted frog, sending one last parting tongue at me, but I was too far and too heavy to be snared in such a way. I turned to look at the angry crowd, then set off into the safety of the dark forest.