To swim.

To play.

To eat.

To sleep.

To mate.

To reproduce.

That was the life of a frog. He was expected to follow it. All frogs were expected to follow it without question. Besides, what was there to question? The instructions were clear, ingrained in their minds, instincts all organisms followed.

But of course, every frog had his own quirks, right? There had to be another frog in the family who wanted something more than the programmed duties of life. Something big. Something...musical.

Something that was over the garden wall.

And something that was too high to reach.

...Or was it?

There was no dirge or mourning today, but there were voices, young voices that disregarded the dead's need for peace. Though, not everyone wanted the graveyard to be as quiet as possible.

On the opposite side of the cemetery wall, a large, slimy frog leaned closer to the wearing stones, peeking through a small hole, eager to hear the human conversations on the other side. He had just finally convinced his folks that, no, he wasn't going to play with them in the pond, disappointing them greatly in the process, but he didn't care much. The pond could wait. Right now, he wanted to listen to the humans and fantasize about what it would be like to be admired by them.

The frog had listened to those voices ever since he had discovered this wall and the world on the other side. After having carefully listened and observed their actions through holes, the human speech had almost become a second language to him, though he could not physically speak it. The funeral dirge was his first taste in music, and though he wished funerals played something more than just mournful melodies, he grew to love listening to the songs. He was sure there was more interesting music over this wall-maybe something more happy-and he dreamt of singing along with lyrics of his own. Too bad his voice was only limited to monotone ribbiting, as with all frogs.

That wasn't going to let him down, though. He could still sing, even if it comes out in the form of ugly croaking; it won't stop him from singing his heart out. Having a human voice might be impossible, just as it was impossible for him to get over the wall or to be able to perform to humans, but even if it was, he could always pretend. Yes, pretending would suffice.

He closed his eyes, and he pictured himself playing a rotating piano-an instrument that he could only picture through his great grandfather's description-facing a crowd in a dimly lit auditorium. He opened his mouth, and a lovely voice rose from his throat.

"At night when the lake is a mirror

And the moon rides the waves to the shore

A single soul sets his voice singing

Content to be slightly forlorn

A song rises over the lilies

Sweeps high to clear over the reeds

And over the bulrushes' swaying

To pluck at a pair of heartstrings

Two voices, now-"

"Dear, you've been here for hours. Are you going to come back anytime soon? Some of your brothers and sisters want to say good winter before they go to sleep."

The frog snapped out of his reverie. Of course, his mother would be the first one to notice his long absence.

"Mother, I'll be with the folks in a moment. I'm a little busy doing...uh…" The frog-the eldest of fifteen children-racked his mind with a believable excuse.

"There's no need to tell me. Are you working on a new song?" The petite female frog smirked knowingly. She was fully aware of her boy's ambitions.

"Yes…" He sighed, it was embarrassing talking about his musical interests to his folks, mainly because they didn't seem to understand how much they meant to him. His siblings usually made fun of him because they thought his dreams of fame and fortune were pointless to hold onto.

An awkward silence followed the frog's answer, piquing his concern. It wasn't like his mother to be so silent; he noticed that she suddenly seemed very sad about something. After several minutes, she reluctantly spilled out what had been on her mind for so long.

"My boy...I-I think that there's not a lot of time between us. You know...I can't keep you forever. You're almost an adult now, and-and-" His mother suddenly broke down sobbing, still trying to form words from her jumbled mind.

Her first child quickly hopped to her side, patting her back, trying to comfort her. It hurt him to see her like this.

"I understand what you mean, you don't need to say anything else. I'll stay with you for a little while more, so you don't need to rush it. When we do part ways, please know that I'll always be grateful for what you've done, all of us are grateful, for taking us in when we needed help the most. You mean the world to us, and one day, I'll promise to repay you, mother. Cross my heart," the frog said softly. He could feel himself starting to tear up, and he quickly wiped his eyes before she could see the tears.

"Oh, I don't know why all of you insist on calling me mother. You know it's not like that," she wailed, hiccupping between words.

"You may not think much of it, but to us, you'll always be the most important person, our guardian, our mother. You never had to help any of us, but you did, and we are indebted," he said as he pulled his mother into a hug.

As the frog was consoling, his worries heightened as he noticed the dark bags under his mother's eyes. She must be staying up way longer than she was supposed to.

"Mother, why don't you go back first. A little rest will help you," he implored. This was probably not good for her health.

"If I rest now, I'll be waking up in spring. I'm afraid of going into deep sleep when you have been delaying yours," she looked at him tearfully.

"Don't worry about me. If you go into deep sleep, it won't take long for me to go into it, too," he spoke while leading her back down the hill to their home. He wasn't sure if he was doing a good job in reassuring her, but she had calmed down and was gradually becoming sleepier and sleepier as they got closer to their den.

"Honey, I know you hate to hear this, but you can't just spend all day at the wall. You know it won't get you anywhere. Why don't you find a mate?" She spoke with a tired voice.

Rather than being annoyed at the words-which he usually is when his siblings said it-it made him sadder. Usually, his mother wouldn't even consider criticizing her son's interests out loud, even though she secretly disapproved of it. If she was also starting to tell him how he should go about his life, that must mean that she didn't believe that it will be long before they go their separate paths.

When they finally reached their home, she settled down on a spot of wet mud, and looked up at her adopted child with fatigued, unfocused eyes.

"Good winter, my son."

"Good winter, mother."

The frog turned to leave, but before he could do that, his mother called out again.

"Son?"

"Yes, mother?"

"...Can you sing me a song?"

This took him by surprise. Usually, people made fun of the frog for making song lyrics in his free time, singing it in front of them was out of the question. Even his mother never asked him to do it, until now.

"O-Okay."

He quickly made up his lyrics as he went.

"Led through the mist,

By the milk-light of moon,

All that was lost, is revealed.

Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring,

But where have we come, and where shall we end?

If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?"

The song felt incomplete, but the frog noticed that his mother had already drifted to sleep, so he stopped so as not to disturb her. He'll think up the rest of the lyrics later.

He hopped over to his siblings, planning to say good winter to them as well. A pang of guilt hit him as he saw that all of them had already buried themselves in mud and gone off into deep sleep. Well, he'll apologize to them in spring.

He found a spacious spot for him to sleep, and sunk down into it, planning to get up when the weather was warmer. But there was one problem: he can't fall asleep.

After a while, the insomniac frog rose up from the mud. There was no point in lying there if he couldn't sleep, and went back up the hill to the wall, the only thing separating him from his dreams.

As he hopped, he thought back to his mother's words. He didn't want to leave her, but it's the way of nature, as they all say. If he didn't leave, she would have to leave first.

She had seemed so sorrowful then, he almost thought parting ways wasn't a good idea. She was right, though, he had to leave her soon enough. He was almost an adult, and he needed to start taking care of himself. In fact, he should had been able to take care of himself the moment he was born, but he was too weak at that time, if it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't have been alive. The problem is, though, how is he going to look after himself? He could do the usual insect hunting and all that, but he's going to have trouble finding mates. He wasn't the, ah, most popular frog in the community. Hardly anyone was interested in his songs...

His thoughts were interrupted when he reached the wall. There seemed to be a lot of yelling going on. His interests rose from the possibility of drama. Just what was going on?

"-get down from that wall!"

"That's it. That's the end."

"No, darn it-no! I mean come down this way!"

Something landed next to the frog, startling him. He hastily hopped to the nearest shrub and hid himself inside it.

"Once again, you ruin my life."

"Who? Me?"

Two humans had climbed over the wall. The frog, not knowing if he wanted to be seen by them, crouched still in his hiding spot. The voices seemed to belong to a young child and an older teenager.

"Ugh, you and your stupid dad! You're always prodding me, trying to get me to join marching band!"

"Oh yeah! If you join the marching, you can hang out with Sara more!"

"That ship has sailed, Greg, thanks to you messing that up too."

"No need to be so harsh on someone so young," the frog croaked quietly to himself. Unfortunately, he didn't croak quietly enough, because the younger one's attention suddenly shifted to the shrub that he was hiding in.

"Hold that thought, Wirt."

"Ugh, what are you doing now?"

Oh no, he had to get out of-.

He couldn't even complete the thought when he felt himself being lifted up against his will, coming face to face to a human in blue and red. The frog was terrified and intrigued at the same time; this was the first time he had seen one up close.

"Haha! We found our lucky frog! We gotta name him for good luck."

"Name?" He ribbited.

He never really had a name. Ever since he was young, he knew when his mother or his siblings were addressing him. Everyone just seemed to naturally know who was talking to whom. A name had never really seemed necessary.

"I don't want to have anything to do with you, or that frog!"

"Okay, I'll try to think of a name myself."

"Ugh, I'm leaving."

He had been quietly observing this interesting exchange of dialog, when he suddenly became alarmed by a distant, familiar noise.

"Hmm…?"

He remembered vaguely of a gory scene of a frog that hadn't been able to hop away to safety in time. Was he going to become that too? Immediately after that thought, he saw his field of vision suddenly leap away from the train's light.

And then, blackness.

A/N: I've been wanting to write a story from the frog's thoughts, because he had no speaking parts. I've always wondered about what he may be possibly thinking while on this wild adventure. I'm not sure if future chapters are going to be longer or shorter. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter to this. Feedback is appreciated.