Blog 4 - A good night's sleep

It's almost 2:30 am as I turn the lock on the mini clinic door. People have come in all day complaining of migraines, most likely brought on by the constant assortment of croaks and ribbits our town has been afflicted with. What I find strange however, is the amount of people who came in for anti-nausea medication. I know that migraines are known to bring about slight nausea, but most of these people looked as pale as ghosts, sweating profusely and with blood-shot eyes. Holding the keys in my hands, I look across the street towards the river. We do get most of our water from this one source and, although it's filtered before being sent to people's various faucets, I consider for a moment the possibility of a connection between the frog migration and the recent illness spreading.

I put it out of my mind quickly however, as I walk down the street. There are more pressing matters at hand. Looking through the fog, I find myself half-hoping to see something significant, half-begging not to. Each night I've been unable to sleep, constantly hatching theories only to wake up and realize that they are only the over-thought delusions of a sleep-deprived hermit. At 22, I thought I would have more to my life, maybe a steady job - at least a girlfriend. But here I am, walking down Dakelh Road at 2:45 am, my only company being a surprisingly large toad that seems to be following me. Wait. 

I turn and stop. The toad stares at me. I stare at him. He really is gigantic, almost the size of my head. Then he starts hopping towards me, and I don't know whether to be scared or amazed. With the plethora of frogs in town, I've tried to ignore them as much as possible but this one... is impossible to ignore. He croaks once he gets to my feet and begins to pick up the pace as he continues down the street. Strangely, I'm now running after him, passing The Foxberry and turning down Water Way. When we finally stop, I notice where I am and almost fall to the ground. 

This was it, this is where I was. 

The bench outside O'Callaghans, I was sitting there. I was slightly tipsy and taking a breather before walking home, but I remember them standing across from me. It's imprinted in my memory because I had never seen Mr. Evans argue with someone before. He and the man in the plaid coat were conversing in sharp whispers, and although I couldn't make out their faces, I could recognize his voice. Why were they here? What had the man done to make someone like Mr. Evans angry? I turn to look for the toad but he's seemed to have disappeared into thin air. 

I really am sleep-deprived.