frogs eat things part 2

And so the beasts had grown from tadpoles hatched in the back woods cistern to rubbery mounds of devouring instinct. The dragonfly didn’t know that the window sill was their territory; he wasn’t fluent in gang graffiti. His wings beat like paper lanterns in a storm, although he refused to fly. I smoked a cigarette and watched the frog perched a foot away as he cocked his head sideways. Part of him was terrified by me, his frogmouthed overlord. Part of him craved the liquid silicon insides of the hammering dragonfly. I gave him my blessing and turned away. In this moment of privacy, he made his decision. Thudding off the glass, dragonfly dangling as sacrificial dinner from his mouth, bounding away. Now hidden in the shadow, I could hear him chewing and smell the rust of blood. I had gotten a nose bleed in my excitement.

Jeweler’s rendering of this horrific scene