The frog was splayed after its operation in the science lab, but not forsaken. He knew that his wife still loved him, even though he was in an advanced state of dissection. "Oooooo, Mdntf, let's hide under the table and touch tongues," she said one day during a family gathering to discuss the answers to the dilemmas facing frogdom. It was a difficult time for family unity, because frogs were being rounded up left and right to be taken to the labs. And it had been several months since any frogs had fallen from the sky to replace them. Special agent frogs, they were, the Forte Team.
"Yes, NOLtcap, let's!" They ducked under the table, and she held him tightly around the waist, making it easier to get to his face, as his remaining organs were falling outwards more than ever. She liked having the chance to show him how devoted she was, to overlook the lack of a skin covering over so much of his body. She loved him even more because such intense devotion was required, and it even had become somewhat of a fetish for her.
She felt his froggy fat clumps against her skin. She had read the results of some of the science lab's results of various tests, when she visited him while he was locked up. When we are touching something soft, we feel that the person we are talking with is feeling softer feelings towards us. Just as when we are holding a hot coffee, we feel the person we are talking with feels warm towards us. And we feel warmer towards him.
So, feeling the soft fat against her made her feel more of the matronly long term cuddly wifely feelings. She felt herself merging with his soul more soundly. Something about looking inside him also made her feel she was closer to his inner secrets than before. That she had penetrated the outer skin of his persona.
Whap!
She went down before she knew what hit her. The 4 firings of the neurons required for the conscious mind to register something in the 500 milliseconds necessary for that hadn't happened. The blow had anesthetized her by cutting off the last 2 firing pulses, so she was simply stunned, and looked around, blinking.
She held her hand up to her husband in a graceful, fragile manner. Whap!
Apparently, some of the dissection affects, with the pins stuck in everywhich way, was putting changes of directional torque onto the pressure on the frog's brain, as his organs were moving outwards day by day, sagging without the protective skin.
Whap Whap Whap WHAP WHAP WHAP!!!!
She tried to escape his blows, but the only way out was into the drain and down the hole, pulling the strainer over her. It hadn't been cleaned, and the nasty food in it deterred him, and he threw his hand around at the end of his rigid arms while making sounds. He didn't care that much. Good riddance.
It was time for a rampage.
He hadn't felt like that since he was a teenager. With his arms open wide and tacked to his version of his cross to bear, he felt invincible, and out for revenge. He picked up a bottle of vodka with his mouth, broke the end of it off, and turned his face up, letting it slide down his throat. "NOW I'll show them what's what! All of them!"
He ran out into the street, in front of traffic, and was run over by a houseboat. The houseboat was shaped like a little red shack with a slanted, pointed roof, and a little chimney that was bent.
His wife happened to be under the street at the time, in the sewer, and pushed the round lid and ran over to him. She screamed, as only a female frog who has been attacked and then seen her attacker, her deepest love, lying before her, can.
Zoooosh! She was nearly run over herself. Or, "runned over," as her family said, being from the rural south. She grinned about that with a twist of her big frog lips. They said "runned," yet they'd never seen her husband as good enough for her.
She pressed her apron with her hands. She would have to make do. She would have to begin again. She would have to kiss PlllO. Tomorrow.
She dodged traffic and ran to the house down the street, where PllO lived. When he answered the door, she stuck out her tongue.
He stepped back, as she had nasty food on her from the drain. And she smelled of sewer. "What are you doing?! You're married! To my best friend! How dare you!?" Whap! Whap Whap!
She fell on the ground, on top of some broken crockery, from his blows, and started sobbing as only a spurned frog so recently widowed can do.
She got up and ran over the hills, bleeding, to the science lab. She threw herself onto the table, and spread open her arms and legs, panting. "Take me. Do to me what you will."
The scientist grabbed her, and sliced her open, sticking pins into her, taking out organs here and there, and logging her movements. She swooned.
He was studying the difference in time between when a stimulus occurs and our conscious perception of it. The time before we are conscious of it, we react without brain stem, and our subconscious. If the stimulus goes away before the 500 ms, it stays in the subconscious. He was theorizing away.
She was swooning dramatically, and that told him something. She had a highly developed sense of - something.
He had already learned the theory that our impulses go towards the future and bounce back. That we react right away to the stimulus, before we have an actual chance to experience it. So, our signals go towards the future, bounce back to us, and make us know to react, because the future knows the stimulus occurs. Because, by then, we have registered it.
He petted the frog in her little apron, who was panting as if she had had too much emotion to handle already. What was in her future, the little thing?
Whap! Whap Whap Whap!!!
The scientist said "OW!" and picked up his foot, which was being pummeled by this froglette's husband's best friend. "OW OW!"
"I knew you had her in here!" He cried. He punched the scientist so roughly, that the man decided it was time for some coffee, and then, maybe a bathroom break. He let the irate frog be.
Something is changing, he thought. Something indeed.
