Legend has it that the souls of drowned children move on to become frogs. I knew this was true when my little sister went missing five years ago. Since then we've been told to "stay strong" and "never give up" and "try to move on" and we have tried.
She was never found, no trace of anything more than her watch by a lake fifty miles away. It was always harder for my parents to accept her death without seeing her body but ever since that watch was found I keep finding frogs on her windowsill.
They just sit there and blink at me with their bulbous black eyes. A little part of me thinks that if I can somehow follow them I'll find my sister's remains, wherever she is. There's just something about those frogs that reminds me of other children who've gone missing - a tilt of the head, the way they all press their hands up against the glass when I go to leave, the way their croaks sometimes sound like sobbing.
She was never found, no trace of anything more than her watch by a lake fifty miles away. It was always harder for my parents to accept her death without seeing her body but ever since that watch was found I keep finding frogs on her windowsill.
They just sit there and blink at me with their bulbous black eyes. A little part of me thinks that if I can somehow follow them I'll find my sister's remains, wherever she is. There's just something about those frogs that reminds me of other children who've gone missing - a tilt of the head, the way they all press their hands up against the glass when I go to leave, the way their croaks sometimes sound like sobbing.
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