Katie (yourhuckleberry) wrote,

Grilled Toad

I'm writing a book, and right now I only have scattered bits and pieces strewn about the place. In my mind's eye, the finished project will probably be rather strewn-about looking, but my main point is that none of this is finished and it will be constantly updated and changed and posted as a new work with each new addition and/or update. I'm looking for a more convenient way to do this, but I haven't found one yet.
The following section might be titled "Grilled Toad," or "Grilled Toad and Twinkies." I have yet to work it all out.

I grilled my brother's toad and I wasn't even hungry. Grilling a pet for nourishment, I think, can be understood and forgiven, but grilling a pet out of boredom? This made me wonder about myself, even when I was five.
Pete, my brother, was gone to my grandparents cabin at the time, and I was so bored. Elizabeth was my best friend who lived conveniently next door. Or was it that she lived next door and was conveniently my best friend? Either way, she was my willing accomplice on that fateful afternoon. It must have been afternoon, because that's when our mothers would kick us out and lock the doors so they could watch their soaps in peace.
So, Pete kept his pet toad in the garage, and Mom had just finished grilling something, and I'm not clear on where the idea to put the little critter on the grill came from. I only remember a "burning" curiousity, and my stellar capacity for lack of forethought was radiant that day!
We put the toad on the grill and it didn't bother me right away. I was deeply absorbed with watching it turn from green to white. Might I also note that it did not hop all over the place as one might anticipate, but rather it just kind of skipped and quivered.
As we watched the grayish lump shrivel and fry, my grandparents car pulled into the driveway right behind us. Elizabeth ran home. Pete jumped out of the car, ran over to the grill, saw his dead pet and burst into tears. Finally, the extent of what I'd done hit home for me. If I remember it correctly, Grandpa pulled him off of me, but I wasn't even trying to defend myself. I knew I deserved whatever I got. Poor Peter. Poor, poor toad.
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