The Frog at the Top of Frosty Mountain

On The Roof

Everywhere The Author looked, there were streams of acid flowing down the streets. It was too dangerous to walk around the city with so much acid around, so The Author climbed up the fire escape ladder of a residential building to get a better view. He reached the top with great effort, and what he saw at the top didn't make him any happier.

The Author saw the snowy peak of Frosty Mountain in the distance. It seemed so close, yet so far. He was separated from the mountain by a lake of acid. To make matters worse, his home neighborhood had also been swallowed by the acid.

Feeling defeated, The Author sat on the concrete barrier separating him from the long drop to the streets below. For a second, he thought about sitting there until the acid dried up. If it rained, he would just sit there soaking in the rain drops. If the sun was too strong, he would sit there letting the UV rays burn his skin. He wouldn't leave until everything was alright, and from where he was sitting, he could tell that would take a long time.

A pigeon landed on the barrier beside The Author and looked at him with great interest. 

"What do you want?" The Author asked angrily.

"I'm just looking at you, that's all. That big crocodile that just attacked the city just told all the pigeons in the city to keep an eye out for a balding chubby guy. He said that whoever catches the guy walking into the city will get a shopping cart full of free stuff!"

The Author felt even more miserable remembering the incident with the pigeon in the department store. Stupid pigeon, it's his fault that I'm sitting here right now. 

"Wait a second..." The pigeon said. "It's you!  You're the guy the crocodile's looking for!"

The Author, overcome by anger, grabbed the pigeon and squeezed it tight. The pigeon coughed and gasped for air.

"I won't.... tell... anyone!" The pigeon said through troubled breathing.

All The Author wanted was to crush the pigeon with his bare hands, but seeing the little bird growing weaker and weaker only filled him with a terrible sadness.

"Oh, who am I kidding." The Author said, letting go of the pigeon. "It's my fault that I'm sitting here. If I hadn't decided to go visit Mr. Bullfrog's, none of this would have happened. I should have just accepted that I'm not a good author and given up on writing for good.

"Wait." The pigeon said. "Did you say Mr. Bullfrog?"

"You know him?"

"Of course I know him! We were best friends in college! Don't worry, I won't tell that crocodile you're here. Any friend of Mr. Bullfrog's is a friend of mine."

"Prove it. What's his favorite book?"

"Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe."

"Why?"

"Because he thinks it's a great tale of survival and overcoming one's obstacles. Also, because it's considered to be the first English novel and it's one of the first adventure stories he's ever read.

The Author nodded, feeling a little lighter. "I believe you. Guess I'll be going now, before any other pigeon spots me."

"Where are you going?"

"My home's destroyed and there's no way to Frosty Mountain except through the city. I guess my only option now is to head south..."

"I know a different way to Frosty Mountain, one that goes around the city. I can show you the way."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"I don't know. There's not anyone else you can trust around here, is there?"

The Author nodded sadly. 

"Well, there's no use sitting around here, is there?" Said the pigeon. "We should get going before it gets dark."

The pigeon flew down to street level, and the Author reluctantly followed him down the ladder.