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Our climate scientists watched the frogs with apprehension. Their biology is tuned to the same environmental thresholds as ours, but with more sensitivity. When frogs die, humans know it’s time to bail. Find a launch pad, space-bound shuttle, new planet—anywhere but here. So when the croaks of frogs vanished from the wetlands, the panic began. We swarmed the evacuation sites to fight for a place in the escape pods. Clawing open the doors, we found that the frogs had already claimed the shuttles in their masses, each one filled with a sea of softly breathing bodies in green and brown and yellow and beige. “We’ve been watching you,” they said. “We realized that when humans start to pay attention, it’s time for frogs to go. You had your escape plans. Why shouldn’t we have ours?” And then the hatches closed and we watched them take off, left alone in the silence where frogs once sang.
Short story written by Peter Chiykowski
website twitter facebook instagramStory prompt taken from a photo by Marcel Fuentes
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