I tentatively watched as the bizarre and alien frog legs leaped into the blistering pan and shriveled to their horrid deaths -- the foreign creature crying in soft withers of misery as it oozed an unidentifiable green substance.
It was morning, and the first meal of the day called out in urgent woe and distress.
I shifted my attention to the sweltering pan as my grandma attentively released the frogs into the makeshift cauldrons that would ensure their slaughter and expiry. My mind focused on the cessation of the innocent culprits as the animated yells of my three other cousins echoed throughout the house.
Adding spices, herbs, and garnishes, I examine the actions of my grandma as she ravishes for any remaining ingredients in the fridge and fires the materials onto the stove. For a second I feel pity for the executed legs, and I silently promise to myself that I will host a funeral for them. But as I pray for a great whole new life for the tattered frogs, I’m interrupted by the gentle voice of my grandma, telling me to pick some tomatoes in our miniature garden.
Listening to the mellow command from my grandma, I swiftly bow my head and utter the phrase: “Thank you for having me” to her before I gleefully prance outside.
Our garden is like the portal to another world -- mesmerizing but also aberrant. I scan the vast fields of our small world, the lapping wind slightly pushing against my face as a shimmer in the plants catches my attention.
Then as I step forward to investigate the mysterious glisten, there lies a vibrant, shining, red tomato. I instinctively twist the tomato off its knotted vine and place the intoxicating garden aroma under my nose -- a smell that bleeds of fresh vegetation.
After a few examines I decide on the chosen tomato and I hurriedly run inside the house to show my grandma my perfect pick. I bow my head upon entering the house and repeat the same line “Thank you for having me” as I excitedly boast about my flawless tomato. All grandma does is give a warm smile and calmly cradles the tomato in her hands as she drops it into the scorching pan.
Then after a few moments of frying and the distinct odor of garlic has empowered the house, in seconds a bowl of sauteed frog legs and tomatoes serenely lies in front of me -- wisps of steam still rising from my meal.
At first, I just frown at the mysterious supper; frog legs still jagging out of the mushy porridge. But as my stomach gurgles in hindered starvation, I slowly poke into the soup and gradually chew on the exotic creature. In hinds sight the meal is out of the ordinary, a dish that urges for acquired tastes. But as my jaw works on the scavenged ingredients, my eyes open up to a whole new world of colors and savory textures that course through my mouth.
Before I know it my stomach is filled with the hot soup, and I drop my empty bowl into the sink that is replenished with soapy water. The fiery sun begins to set, and I know I have to act quickly or my time will be up.
So wrapping my professional doctors coat around me as I gather my medical tools, I sit each of my cousins on a wooden stool and carefully examine their health condition. I accurately place a popsicle stick on each of my cousins’ tongues, especially making sure that their tongues are pigmented correctly.
Then as I go through my next procedure, I persist in scanning my cousins eyes, listening to their heartbeats, and forcing them into doing ten jumping jacks. I would also attempt into brainwashing them that I was the best doctor out there, and that any other health care or medical service would provide no help to them.
But as my cousins crawl up the stairs like awakened zombies, my soul somehow also makes it into bed. I smile with an adorable grin, recalling on my wonderful day of perpetual memories as I try to squish the lowering shining orb outside the window.
I was a doctor and I was keenly aware of it. I was the one who would save people when I was older, pursuing the occupation of a doctor and enlightening people from the dead. I was going to impact the world and I knew it.
As I lay in bed dazed from the recurring times of the past and the future, I vigorously illustrate my plans to my fellow cousins. We laugh and talk about things any other child would talk about. Then as we concentrate on the timid footsteps of our grandma, we rapidly shut our eyes and our voices become hushed in the midst of the night. And before I know it, I’m away in my dreams, caring no less about what will happen in the future...
There was darkness and the swishing voices of people echoing in the vast darkness. I was alone, staring blankly at the world of darkness that enveloped me into its realms.
Then my feet slightly lifted off the ground and I teleported to a large room full of people. The odd humans around me were mercilessly sobbing, and in the distance I saw a figure that was very familiar. My hair was longer and I wore unique clothes different of my time era. But as I tried to step closer and inspect the bewildered situation, entreated screams and the rings of police sirens shattered in front of me. I watched innocently with confusion, as doctors unjustly pierced through the womans heart and death overcame her. Shouts soared through the roof and gray outlines cried eternally.
I was now back in the darkness, stolen from the room as the reverberating sounds of the crashing situation stirred in my mind. I could remember the cries of the shadowed figures, and looking back at their mourning made tears stream down my eyes.
If that was what doctors did, kill… then I never want to be anything like that.
I suddenly flash back to reality, my eyes still pondering off to the mesmerizing view outside as my teacher talks for centuries.
It is period 3, Language Arts, and the mistress that teaches the class yapps like a chihuahua non-stop.
My gaze fixates on the soft swaying trees outside, my head subtly bobbing along as our instructor speaks like it’s her last chance to speak.
Looking back, being a child was truly great. There was no stress, we didn’t get any homework, and we also didn’t have to face some dilemmas in life that we would never step foot on. I tapped my index finger mildly on my polished wooden desk, my perceptions racing from timeline to timeline as the bell blared inside our open classroom.
Later as I walk home from school to visit my grandma, I pick some of her favorite yellow flowers. The plants were bright and full of light, expressing their love of living in this boundless world. They actually reminded me of my grandma, the ordinary little flowers were full of empathy and compassion.
A few minutes later as I stroll along the cement paths, I take a sharp right turn and my feet brush against the green grass. I make my way up the bumpy dirt as I clutch the beautiful flowers against my hand.
As I get closer to the gray monument that graciously embraces her life and tells of her extensive story, I tilt my head and grin gratefully. My arms cross together into a bow and I happily say “Thank you for having me” into the silent air.