The Gnatcracker

Shackleford Swamp is a massive ecosystem, rich in history, customs and traditions. Beautiful, centenarian southern oaks that have witnessed more than any sage. Glistening, muddy green-tinted streams and lakes. A massive gamma of flora, fauna and other Latin words that could be used to describe the great variety of life in this beautiful corner of the American South.

The best part, other than this massive buffet of organisms, was the lack of humans.

The stories of this collections have nothing to do with the episodic tales of a wandering hedge knight, a vigilante or a Mongolian throat singer. No. The protagonist of these tales is nothing more and nothing less than a mere Lithobates catesbeianus.

A burly, boastful Bullfrog.

The amphibian known as William Bullfrog, now known far and wide in every corner of Shackleford Swamp as "Boggy Bill" does not remember where or when he was born. The only thing he is certain of is that until 1860, where the great civil war broke out in the swamp, he was old, strong and pig-headed enough to be sent to the front lines of the Bullfrog Union.

Strangely enough, the civil war of Shackleford Swamp started on the same date as the American one, had the exact same number of battles and, unfortunately, the exact same number of casualties. The two only differences was that the civil war of Shackleford Swamp (or the Big One, as it came to be known) ended in 1866 instead of 1865 and the fact that neither side could really remember why it was started.

Boggy Bill, after the end of the war, left the battlefield with nothing but scars and a burning passion for smoking.

Now gruff and mature, Boggy Bill grabbed his bowler hat, his collection of cigars and his four-stringed banjo and set out without a destination in mind, playing his sad songs and spreading cigar butts all throughout his long journey..

"THE GNATCRACKER"

Before Boggy Bill became the famous swampy troubadour that he is today, he was a measly wandering banjo-player.

During one of his numerous travels, he met Guy Gnat. Guy Gnat wasn't especially adored in the swamp. Then again, no gnat was. From the year a massive influx of gnats had migrated to Shackleford Swamp many a-years ago, nobody had really loved the feathery buggers. Grifters, drifters and other types of -ifters were therefore the only occupations left for the gnats to excel in.

Their morbid smell and the insanely annoying sound of their buzzing didn't really help with the copious amounts of racism they received. It was a backwards time in the Swamp.

The mistreatment of the Gnats led to interesting cultural traits, such as the adoption of "the" as a common middle name.

Rick the Shiv, a celebrated gnat hero, was a particularly good example.

...

Bill was dragging his froggy knuckles across the southern glades of Shackleford, in the very areas the Confederacy of Crawdads once spread extreme fear and terror. The only things remaining now were the yellow, grassy prairies, the massive southern oaks and the puddles of bright, green swamp water. It was a beautiful, southern noon. The scorching sun shone brightly upon all creation, making the petals glisten, the waters glitter and the clouds seem a hue whiter than they usually were. Magnificent were the shining, fallen autumn leaves that adorned the grassy soil. It was on one of those leaves that Bill sat, looked at the burning summer sun and said: