The Frog
I saw a frog. A surviving one. It could have felt better if it weren't surviving and dead already. It was half dead. Maybe, a car ran over it. Maybe, it was a motorbike. But, whatever crushes its legs and lower stomach was some human-made thing. The frog was lying there. Helpless and morphed. It couldn't be saved or maybe no one wanted to save it. Who would've stepped forward for the frog, dared to touch its bumpy scalp with warm blood oozing out of it? Who had the guts to do this? Us, humans only had the gut to run it over and call it an animal that was not worth the save.