You find yourself in a room
It's a fuckin hut actually
Congrats, you're in a hut. Like it's basically a wooden yurt that looks semi-permanent.
There's a campfire in the middle with some meat roasting over it and some mysteriously dark cups around the edges. Oh, and there's also a frog in a little wizard cloak.
Yeah, sure, and he's got a little white beard and staff.
His eyes are hard to track becuase his pupils spill out and fill the whole globes which contain the entire room in their reflection.
He offers you a cup
No, nothing bad happens when you take it. He seems more or less passive about it. As if a cup were merely being taken.
It tastes like coffee
It's diner coffee
You can tell it's decaff.
There does not seem to be anything in the bottom of the small stone mug, besides the usual toxic residue that such coffee leaves
You are still you
The frog is still a frog
He doesn't look like he's waiting for anything. Definietly not sinister
If anything he looks like he's wondering what you're waiting for.
You go to put your cup back and find that it has filled up again.
The frog pokes a log in the pile next to him with his staff. He can't move it, and the fire is running low
You watch a shower of sparks reflected in his black eyes as you toss the log in and get the sense that he is in some way pleased.
He has nothing to say, but if there's anything you'd like to share, he'd be happy to listen
You let a few words fall into his coutersunk earholes. His expression remains unchanged
This time you let out a few sentences. Each letter seems to fall past him into the same place behind his beedy eyes.
Sentence after sentence and he receives them all the same, like a sheppard quietly counting his flock as they come in to rest.
So you let it spill. Secrets, hopes, wishes, dreams, fears, questions, anger, curses, whatever your mind has been unable to bear you lay in the care of this frog.
He lets you
Enough time has passed that he asks you to put another log on the fire
Your words, however, need no external fuel. They seem to bubble up one after the other as you hand them off to their silent caretaker
Eventually you take another sip of the coffee. You don't remeber picking the mug back up though it doesn't seem unreasonable that you would.
The same brown dregs swirl listlessy around the bottom, guided by the rythmic forces of your idle hand
Like a boat caught in a whirlpool, you feel the final words forming on your lips before they are sucked into silence.
He doesn't move, but you can see your words sink in like a key down a dark hole and something shifts behind his eyes
You set down your cup, once again full, by the fire, and set off once again into the dark, knowing there is at least one place where your mind is safe at rest.