Mud fiction

Lisa crouched behind the dead tree at the edge of the pool. She wiped mud from her face, just the mud that was too near her eyes. The rest provided good disguise. The growl echoed again, somehow hiding its direction from her ears, sounding as if it came from behind, from the front, and from both sides.

It was an evil, angry growl, but she had had enough of fear. She was defiantly still, waiting for the animal or person or thing to show itself, to grow confident enough to attack.

The growling stopped. Lisa knew that it was now considering an assault. Threats always stopped just before action. She gripped her knife, and prepared for the moment sure to come.

The frog sprang from its tiny mudhole lair, baring its fangs, and shrieking its bloodlust - and almost got its teeth into Lisa's neck. Fortunately, she was faster, always faster, and in the midst of its jump, caught it by the throat with her left hand. She tightened her thumb and finger into a small noose, choking the evil amphibian as it hissed and threatened death.

She twisted it into two pieces, silencing its hunger forever - and ate it raw. She kept the legs to sell to the next restaurant, or camp, or traveler - but devoured the rest with satisfaction. She took a long breath of the stifling, hot night air, and rinsed her hands in the swamp water - then stood up, and looked around in the dark for a limb with which to climb out of the bog. Finding none, she dug her fingers into the slightly dryer, firmer soil above the water line, and made her way to the gravelly trail.

She heard music in the distance. She made sure her knife was well hidden, and strolled happily to find whatever camp might offer an opportunity for... gain.

The moon sagged behind another cloud, and even the mosquitoes seemed afraid to get too near.