The Lonely Tadpole was written not long after I became a father, but is more about the changes I was going through than it is to do with my children. It's about the natural desire to want to grow and evolve, coupled with the fear of change. It is for this reason that I think it sits comfortably alongside When Phil Met Bill.
Though this story works well for kids between eight to twelve, the dramatic journey of the titular tadpole is one I think we can all relate to.
The Lonely Tadpole
by The Author
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 The Author
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The Lonely Tadpole
There was once a tadpole who lived in a lake in the middle of a forest.
During the day, when the sun was shining, and the clouds sailed by in a sky of deep blue, she swam around and nibbled on pond weed and moss. When she was very young this was all she wanted.
At night, when the sky became a sheet of diamond studded black velvet, and the sun became a snow white disk, the pond became dark and the plants turned to silver, then she would sleep peacefully beneath some weeds. For a while everything was fine and she was happy.
One day she saw a fish passing by. She wanted to say hello, but as she swam towards it the fish turned on her. It’s face became angry and hunger burned in its eyes like fire. The Tadpole quickly turned and dove towards the safety of the mud at the bottom of the lake, but the fish was nimble and it followed. So the Tadpole swam towards a small hole in between two rocks and hid there until the fish went away. From then on she was careful as she swam around the lake.
Some of the animals in the pond were nice. She would sometimes chase the pond-skaters who danced their ballet across the surface; she would sometimes dance around the pond-snails who meandered along the leaves of the pond-weed, they would applaud her graceful movements, but they couldn’t join in her games.
But the creatures in the lake who she admired above all others were the Frogs. The Frogs could come and go from the lake when they pleased. They could swim to the shore, then hop across the ground – to another lake, perhaps. With their strong legs they could out-swim many fish and they were big and brave and could often scare other fish away.
More than anything else she wanted to leave the lake, to experience a new world. She wanted to try new things and be free to come and go as she pleased.
She would sometimes stop a passing frog and ask it to tell her stories of life outside the lake, but most times they were too busy to stop and talk, or too impatient to explain. They would use words she didn’t understand like logs and tree-trunks, roads and humans, they would warn her to be careful of animals she’d never heard of like owls and cars. Before they would explain much they would swim off mumbling about how they had more important things to do; they said that she was young and would be better off staying where she was for now. She didn’t want to, though, she was lonely and she decided she wanted to be a Frog.
The biggest reason she wanted to be a frog was because she wanted to talk and sing like a frog. You see, though all the animals in the pond could speak to each other, in the way animals do, without words or noises, the frogs could sing and speak to each other with loud croaks. Late at night, long after the Tadpole was put to bed she could hear the frog chorus echoing around the lake.
As she went to sleep one night, listening to the frog chorus, she wished and dreamed and hoped and prayed that one day she could be a frog. Maybe wishes do come true, she thought.
The next day she woke up and she was sad. She was still a tadpole. A small tear trickled down her face and she wondered whether or not she would always be just a lonely tadpole. She didn’t eat very much that day, and went to sleep early, feeling very sorry for herself.
The next day she ventured out into the lake again. She bumped into her favourite snail, who asked if she would dance for him; she didn’t really want to, and so she said no. But the snail, who seemed old and wise in the ways of the lake just laughed and offered to sing her a song while she danced. She agreed and as he sang she danced.
Lah, la, la, la, lah,
The tadpole is so free,
Oh how I wish
I had a tail
To swim as free as she!
Lah, la, la, la, lah,
The tadpole is so free,
Swish her tail
and she can swim
So grey-hey-hace-fully.
It was not the best song she’d ever heard but it made her happy.
Can wishes come true? She asked the snail.
Sometimes, my tiny tadpole; sometimes they can, the snail replied as he sloped off.
She felt better and began to appreciate what she had.
She went to sleep that night and slept really well.
The next day she awoke with a hunger like she had never known before. And her back was incredibly sore. And she felt sick.
With a little effort she found she could swim out from under her rocks and get some breakfast – her back hurt but her tummy wanted food, even though it felt sick. She felt terrible.
She ate some pond weed, and she ate some moss, then she ate more pond weed then went back for some more moss. After three hours of nothing but eating she felt tired and went to sleep. She woke up again after a long sleep and wanted more food, her back was really sore, and she felt sicker than ever, and her tail hurt as well; but she was hungry and so she swam out from the rocks and ate and ate and ate. Then she slept some more.
Then she noticed something very strange happening. Her tail was shrinking! That’s right, her beautiful tail was shrinking away to nothing; and it was being replaced by two strange … other tails. She could move these and she found she could swim with them, but … it was all very curious, she thought.
She experimented by swimming with her new tails, and then an incredible thought dawned on her. Could it be! Had all her dreams been answered? If you wished for something hard enough, maybe … maybe it did come true.
She was so excited she forgot everything and just swam and ate and swam and slept and swam and ate and swam and slept. All she could think, over and over in her mind, was: She might be becoming a frog. Could it be that dreams really do come true?
She was so excited. Then, one day, close to sunset …
The little tadpole was dancing around some reeds in the pond and she saw a friendly frog come swimming her way, minding its business as well. All of a sudden, from out of the crimson sky a mighty Heron landed, and quick as a flash, it stabbed its beak into the water and took off with the frog in its mouth. The frog wiggled and squirmed but it couldn’t do a thing; the little tadpole froze in fear and hid beneath her rock all day feeling very small and scared. She understood now why the other frogs had warned her about the outside world; life as a frog is dangerous, she thought, maybe she was better off as a tadpole. Maybe she didn’t want to be a frog. She should have listened to the other frogs. She was scared.
The next day she woke up and was a little less hungry, and she thought about wanting to be a tadpole again. Surely wishes can be taken back, she decided. If she acted like a tadpole she could be one.
She saw an older frog swimming past, he stopped and looked proudly at the young tadpole:
Well, well, well, you are growing fast. You’re becoming a fine frog, he said.
No, she said. No I’m not. I’m a tadpole.
What? No, no, no, you’re a frog. Look, you have webbed feet.
The tadpole looked – she did have webbed feet.
You have no tail, the frog said.
The tadpole looked – she didn’t have a tail anymore.
And if you could only see yourself, you’d see you were a frog. Come with me to the edge of the pond and you can see for yourself, you’ll be able to look into the water and see your reflection there. Then you’ll see: you’re a frog now.
No, said the little tadpole again. I’m a tadpole.
Well, harrumphed the frog, you’ll have to grow up one day. One day you’ll see: you’re a frog. And he swam off in a huff.
No, thought the little frog nervously, I’m a tadpole. I want to be a tadpole again. Then she felt sick and swam off and tried to squeeze into her gap in the stones. She couldn’t fit, so she found a bigger gap in some bigger stones and sat there all day sulking.
It was nearly evening when the little frog thought of venturing out. The heron was sweeping across the surface of the lake, and she decided that if she couldn’t make the older frog think she was still a tadpole, she probably wouldn’t be able to fool the heron either, so she stayed hidden in the damp crack in the stones until the heron went away.
Maybe I am a frog, thought the little frog. Maybe I’ve changed, maybe my wish has come true. Either way, she decided, I want to know for sure. I survived against the fish, I’ve made friends in the pond, I was happy before and I want to be happy again. There’s only one way to find out.
Cautiously she swam towards the edge of the pond, and looked up to the shore. Two frogs were hopping along towards the meeting place where frogs went to sing songs and tell stories throughout the night. I could join them, she thought.
But … what if I’m wrong, what if I’m not a frog. I’ll look like a fool – a tadpole trying to be a frog! She backed out and swam deep into the lake where she sat, confused and lonely. Now a lonely frog, not a lonely tadpole.
In the distance, in her mind, she heard the voice of the old snail singing softly.
Lah, la, la, la, lah,
Some wishes do come true
If you have worked
As hard as you
Your wishes do come true.
Now that you can walk,
Now that you can sing,
You’re all grown up
Your dream’s come true
You can do anything.
So what are you going to do?
She felt goose bumps across her body, and she shivered in the cold, dark water. The moon spread its light across the lake like molten platinum, the stars shimmered on its surface, and the little frog sat alone in the mud.
What if I can walk and talk like the frogs? What if I can?
What if she could?
There’s only one way to know.
With her mind racing like the pond skaters who cheered her on, and her guts tied in nervous knots like the pond weed which lay tangled throughout the lake, with the speed of the wind she swam. Faster and faster, faster and faster; don’t think twice, don’t look back, she thought. Could it be? she thought. Then as she reached the side of the lake she realised: of course it was. And with that she leapt onto the shore and for a moment she was flying. Then she landed, her strong legs supporting her on the bank, her lungs taking in the fresh, clear evening air, her skin tingling with the cool night breeze. She turned to look back over the lake and saw an amazing thing.
In the waters at the side of the lake, with a silvery glow around her head, she saw a frog staring back at her. As she moved, the frog moved, and as she smiled she realised that she was looking at her reflection, and she realised too, in a moment of joy, that she had become a frog. Her dream had come true.
After a time, she turned and hopped along the bank a little. With a bit of practice she found hopping became easier until before long she was making good speed. In the distance she could hear the songs and chatter of the other frogs, and as she approached, and when they saw her, they let out a chorus of croaks and rebbits, which came like sunshine on her heart.
Welcome to our night-time chorus, said the head frog, a strong and proud beast. We thought you’d never make it – not all tadpoles become frogs, you know.
The Lonely Tadpole was written by an anonymous author who believes the world could be a significantly better place and spends his time thinking and writing.
Watch out for
When Phil Met Bill
a new novel by The Author coming to Smashwords very soon.
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