It starts snowing at eleven, soft flurries that turn thick by noon, the kind of snow Christmas movies recreate with shaved soap and synthetic chemicals. By one, the grass is covered, white powder b…| Flash Frog
The frog doesn’t move. Not for a long time. Its skin is the green of river glass, shimmering like a puddle after rain—light fractured across something thin and soft. The ventral surface is pale and…| Flash Frog
