After hanging up his clothes, Tobey started walking along the backyard pathway toward the living room. As he passed the kitchen's fancy glass doors, he glanced inside—empty.
Good. That meant Mom must be in her room.
Or so he thought.
Just as he reached the living room glass door, he froze. Inside, sitting comfortably on the couch and watching TV… was his mother.
"Luck is not on my side. How many times have I changed my plan already?" Tobey whispered to himself.
There was no turning back now—the kitchen was his target.
"I'd be able to take a container if I had pockets… Guess I'll have to grab the container first—then the frog from the backyard."
Tobey stepped into the kitchen, moving as carefully and precisely as a thief in the night. Step by step, he approached the counter, his prize—the container—just within reach. He stretched out his hand, fingertips grazing the plastic… almost… there—
CLACK.
Tobey froze. A distant sound—subtle, unassuming—cut through the silence. To him, it was the sound of DOOM.
He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes wide. The source? The door handle. It moved.
In his mind, he repeated, "…No. No. No. No. No."
CREEEAK.
The door opened. Light from the living room spilled into the kitchen, casting an ominous shadow as a figure stepped inside. Her footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. It was her. The demon. The monster. The bringer of despair.
Mom.
Tobey ducked behind the counter, heart pounding in his ears.
"SHE'S HERE," he screamed internally.
He held his breath as she walked past him, moving directly toward the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of water, sipped slowly, then let out a long, resigned sigh.
Mom mumbled, "Why do I feel like something's off today?"
Tobey clenched his fists. His entire existence felt off today.
For a moment, Mom stood there, scanning the room as if sensing the impending chaos. Then, she shrugged and walked back out of the kitchen.
Tobey exhaled in relief. "That was way too close…" he muttered.
BACK TO BUSINESS – THE FROG HUNT CONTINUES
Tobey slipped into the kitchen again, grabbed a container, and hurried back outside. He looked at the frog, then at the container, then back at the frog.
"Don't want to kill the frog by oxygen deficiency…" he sighed.
With a groan, he turned back toward the kitchen. He needed to poke holes in the lid. But just as he reached the doorway, he stopped—the kitchen was right next to the living room… and in the living room… was his mom.
Yeah. There was no risk he was taking that route.
Determined, he grabbed an ice breaker and carried the container back to the backyard to poke holes in peace.
Tobey crouched down, locking eyes with his target like a predator sizing up its prey, whispering,
"This is it. The moment of truth."
He lunged. But instead of a simple hop, the frog twisted midair—its tiny body shifting, stretching, growing. A faint glow surrounded it as its limbs extended and its eyes narrowed, and then it spoke:
"Damn, kid, you're persistent."
Tobey's eyes widened as he hit the mud face-first, spitting dirt.
"…You can TALK?!" he gasped.
The creature—no longer just a frog—landed gracefully a few feet away, arms crossed like a seasoned warrior.
"Of course I can talk. But let's focus on the real problem here—" it said.
Tobey scrambled up, pointing a shaky finger.
"W-what real problem?!" he demanded.
"The fact that you are too slow," the creature retorted.
The moment the words left its mouth, the frog sprinted—not hopped, but sprinted on two legs.
Tobey's jaw dropped. His brain barely processed before his instincts kicked in:
"OH HELL NO, GET BACK HERE!"
THE CHASE BEGINS
Tobey tore after the creature, his feet slamming against the wet grass, his hands outstretched. But the thing was unbelievably fast—way too fast. Panting, he yelled,
"WHAT—EVEN—ARE YOU?!"
Mid-sprint, the creature grinned and replied, "Your worst nightmare."
It twisted, flipped over a puddle, and landed effortlessly on all fours before breaking into another sprint. Tobey, however, did not flip over the puddle.
SPLASH.
He shot up, now drenched, wiping water from his face.
"…Okay. Now you're just showing off," he muttered.
"It's not my fault you're built like a potato," the creature quipped.
Tobey's eye twitched as he realized the frog was mocking him.
Determined, he shouted,
"You. Are. MINE."
He dived—and missed.
Again.
The creature chuckled, "You keep throwing yourself at me like that, and I'm gonna start thinking you like me."
Tobey's face burned with embarrassment.
"SHUT UP!" he snapped.
The creature dodged left, right—every move was flawless. But it made one mistake: it underestimated just how desperate Tobey was.
He stopped. He stood still. The creature turned, confused, asking,
"Giving up already?"
Tobey grinned fiercely.
"Nope."
With a sudden, unexpected move, Tobey grabbed the wet sock—
And THREW IT.
The creature's instincts kicked in—it dodged left, exactly as Tobey had planned.
With one final lunge, Tobey tackled it midair, rolling across the grass.
Struggling, the frog cried, "No—NO! THIS CAN'T BE—"
CLICK.
The container lid snapped shut.
Tobey collapsed backward, arms spread in a mix of relief and triumph.
"Mission complete," he grinned.
From inside the container, the creature crossed its arms and huffed,
"You got lucky."
Tobey smirked and tapped the lid.
"Nah. I'm just built different."
…
…
…
A cough—soft yet deafening—echoed. Tobey blinked as a deep, primal fear crawled up his spine. Slowly—so painfully slowly—he turned his head.
There she was:
The neighbor's girl.
Standing at her window.
Watching.
Judging.
The heavens wept as rain poured down in mourning. The earth itself seemed to want to swallow him whole. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled—a requiem for his soul.
She did not speak. She did not react. She merely stared, her gaze like that of a god piercing through his every victory, every triumph, every delusion.
No longer was he the warrior who had slain the beast.
No longer was he the scientist on the verge of discovery.
No longer was he built different.
He was just a boy—standing in his underwear, drenched in mud, clutching a plastic container.
The silence stretched into eternity. The weight of heaven and hell bore down upon him, the cosmos itself rejecting his foolishness.
And then—
She moved.
With the finality of divine judgment, she reached for the curtain.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Inevitably.
With a whisper of fabric, she sealed his fate.
No words. No emotion. Only the abyss of her rejection.
The universe had spoken.
Tobey stood motionless, feeling the flames of hell licking at his ankles and the cold winds of heaven turning away from him in shame. His knees nearly buckled; his grip on the container loosened.
Was this what it meant to fall?
He closed his eyes. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of a fallen god cast from paradise:
"…Was all of this truly in vain?"
And in that moment—he knew.