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He remembers catching tadpoles in the pond at his granddad’s farm when he was a very young boy, scooping them up in his hands and watching them wriggle.
“Gonna be frogs someday, they will,” his granddad had said, crouching down in the mud, smelling of manure and sun-baked earth. “So be gentle with ‘em, like.” He’d taken Simon’s wrist so softly in his own hand and lowered the tadpoles back into the murky water. “Your brother likes to smush ‘em, don’t he? But we’re gonna give ‘em a chance to see what bein’ frogs is all about. Isn’t that right?”
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Bookmark Notes:
Short but bitterest of the bittersweet.
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Bookmark Notes:
I'm pretty sure this is my favorite, most real Simon Riley.
Beautiful, short, sweet. Hurts in a good way.
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Bookmark Notes:
I am unwell about this