Frankie and Freddie Froggie’s Fabulous Ferry
Written for NYC Midnight’s #FlashFictionChallenge, August 2020
by Darcie T. Kelly
With a flourish of flipper and stone, Freddie drives the second porcupine quill through the birch bark banner, pinning it between two saplings to shout at passersby: Frankie and Freddie Froggie’s Fabulous Ferry. Along side the bombastic name is a crudely drawn image of a full-frontal Freddie Froggie. Mid-leap. There can be little doubt that Freddie commissioned the banner without Frankie’s consent, the elder brother being much too morose for such ostentatious displays.
Freddie takes a moment to admire his likeness before turning to Frankie. “We’re officially in business!” He skips the stone and saunters to the stump his sibling squats beside. Draping his long limbs across a log disrupts the stacks of leaves and quills Frankie has laid out for bookkeeping purposes.
A croak vibrates deep in Frankie’s throat as he sucks the hollow-stem-straw of his pond water and plankton smoothie. “Yeah,” he dead pans, putting the empty acorn-cup down and straightening the piles, “just look at the line of customers.” With a harrumph, Frankie lumbers to the banner, scratches at an empty corner adding No Scorpions in block letters, and returns to the log.
“You can’t say that!” Freddie rushes over and tries to wipe away the offending words. “It’s …” he searches for a way to explain the offence without offending anew. “It’s species-ist!”
“Tell that to Great Uncle Ferris,” Frankie moans, pulling a fresh smoothie from the cool mud beside the stump. “You might find his bones at the bottom of the river yet.”
While Frankie missed a few thousand Greats, it’s true that generations ago a scorpion stung Ferris Froggie who was kindly ferrying it across the river. It is also true that thousands of scorpions are eaten by toads every year. Of course, toads aren’t frogs, just close cousins. Close enough they equally enjoy the benefits of frog-toadyness. In fact, it’s an ill-kept secret that Frankie himself is the product of a frog-toad affair. While smearing a flipper of mud across the bottom of his bombastic banner, effectively erasing the offence, Freddie wonders if Frankie’s parental sensitivity is the reason for his social insensitivity.
The first customer to arrive at the Fabulous Ferry is a lone ant. Freddie, eager to stretch his legs and bubbling with customer service, leaps into action disrupting the stacks of leaves and quills and overturning Frankie’s latest smoothie. Frankie flicks his tongue and straightens the piles again.
“How do I know you won’t eat me?” the ant asks with a nervous glance at Frankie.
“We’re striving for repeat customers,” Freddie answers, “and maybe, if you’re happy with our ferry service, you’ll tell your colony about us. Eating you doesn’t help grow our business.” Satisfied, the ant climbs on Freddie’s back, enjoys a delightfully dry journey across the river, and promises to recommend Frankie and Freddie Froggie’s Fabulous Ferry to his family.
When Freddie returns to the log, he asks, “Any more customers?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been flooded.” Frankie’s rolling eyes cover a satisfied expression.
“Why are you such a grump?” Freddie wonders aloud. “It can’t just be the diet.”
“It’s my nature.”
Freddie is dozing, dreaming of rainy days and warm ponds when the next customer arrives.
“No scorpions,” Frankie’s croak wakes his slumbering sibling.
“Excuse me?”
Yawning and stretching, Freddie focusses sleepy eyes on their new customer.
“You heard me. No —"
“— problem!” Freddie cuts Frankie off, flinging himself forward, filling the frame between Frankie and the scorpion and disrupting leaves and quills. “We’re happy to ferry all customers interested in crossing the river.” Freddie thrusts a fresh smoothie at his brother and climbs over the log, leaves and quills spilling to the muddy ground.
“Don’t you dare kill my brother!” Frankie shouts.
The scorpion pulls away from Freddie, leans menacingly across the log, pincers clicking in Frankie’s face. “Scorpions have mastered our nature. Can you say as much?”
Frankie frets between fight and flight. There is fire in his eyes and irrational anger in his heart, yet he swallows with an audible gulp and instinctively draws away from the sworn enemy he just met. Freddie freezes, eyes bulging, unsure what comes next.
Unexpectedly, an unnoticed ant interrupts.
“Excuse me,” it squeaks, “have you seen my comrades?” In its worry and distraction, the ant has yet to notice the tableau. “We were headed this direction but got separated. I’m starting to worry …” The ant’s voice trails off as three heads swivel in its direction. “Never mind. You’re clearly in the middle of something.”
Freddie climbs on the log, long arms and flippered fingers pressing the frog and scorpion apart. “No problem!” Freddie flusters. “We’re happy to ferry all customers interested in crossing the river. Right!” He shoots his brother a piercing glance. Frankie still steams at the scorpion. Returning his attention to the ant, Freddie continues, “In fact, I ferried an ant to the other side earlier today.”
“Only one?” the ant is torn between relief and disappointment. The scorpion alone notices the fire blink out of Frankie’s eyes as they dart to the ant and Freddie.
Freddie’s face falls as he nods. He starts to reach for the ant, wanting to hug it, but reconsiders and lets his arms drop. Losing family is heartbreaking. “Have you seen more ants, Frankie?”
“I –” Frankie Froggie draws himself together as he stammers, searching for sarcastic escape. His eyes dart between the ant’s mourning, Freddie’s heartbreak, and the scorpion’s accusation before going cold. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
“The frog is clearly lying.” The scorpion crosses pincered arms over chest, shaking her head.
“Frankie never lies.” At Freddie’s defence of him, Frankie wiggles, burying himself in the mud. Freddie clamours to his brother. With flippers holding Frankie’s face above ground, he implores, “Tell them! Tell them about your diet. About going vegan. Tell them!”
“She’s right, Freddie.” Frankie flicks his tongue, capturing the ant and swallowing. Freddie releases his brother, stomach roiling. Before sinking completely into the mud, Frankie shrugs, “It’s my nature.”