The Frog , the Fly and the Devil.

The frog told the fly, “The scary thing is, the Devil always tells the truth.”

The fly said, “I don’t know about that. My daddy told me not to listen to you.”

The frog said, “All right, then, don’t believe me. But if you go over to that tree, you can ask the Devil anything you want, and he always tells the truth.”

The fly felt a quick shudder. But he didn’t want the frog to know he was a little bit scared.

So, the fly said, “I’ll go over there and prove you wrong.”

The fly thought, the Devil can’t be real, and daddy said not to trust the frog. But it was always so exciting to hang out with the frog. The fly has learned so much from him, stuff his dad didn’t even know. And everyone seemed to like the frog, and the fly wanted to be liked too. He knew his dad didn’t know everything; the Devil might be real: the Frog said he was real.

If it turned out the Devil was real and always told the truth, the fly figured he should think of a question to ask. He decided upon asking him should he stay friends with the frog or obey his father’s wishes and socialize with the flies in the west horse barn.

Before leaving, the fly asked the frog, “Do you want me to ask him anything for you? The frog said, “Please ask him what will make me happy.”

The fly deftly flew across tepid swamp water, over crystalline fish eyes intent on the magnetic movement of the fly’s zig-zag path towards the lush, green tree at the center.

A fish jumped up as high as he could to gulp down the fly for a good snack, but the fly dodged to the left and said, “Hey now, I’m going to see the Devil. It’s bad luck to kill someone on a Holy Journey.” This was a lie the frog taught the fly. “Always tell people you’re on a holy journey and that it’s bad luck to mess with you; it will keep you safe and unharmed on your travels.”

Back in the water, the fish said, “I’d rather have bad luck than be hungry.”

This statement seemed odd to the fly. He said, “Do you want me to ask the Devil how you can stop being hungry? He always tells the truth, ya know.”

The fish said, “I already know how not to be hungry!” and then he splashed back under water.

The fly then finished his flight to the tree and saw a long, slender opening in the trunk and an orange glow from within; the tree was hollow. The fly landed at the lip of the glowing hole. He started to walk forward to go in, but found his legs stuck in a shiny brown substance. He struggled, beat his wings as hard as he could. Straining. And straining. The fly thought he was going to pass out, but all of a sudden, his legs came free, up he went, and into the hollow.

The air inside was a heavenly aroma of fetid meat and just-moist feces. A warm humid air embraced the fly, and he tried to internalize and cherish the moment for as long as he could.

“Hello and welcome.”

The fly knew it was the Devil’s voice. And he knew he could trust him.

The Devil said, “You are welcome here, and I encourage you to make your own decisions.”

The fly flew all around the tree hollow. He landed on fresh piles of shit, savory, sweet and warm. The fly remembered his childhood bed. His pajamas. He wondered if his dad would be disappointed in him now, if he knew he listened to the frog and came to speak with the Devil.

“Your father still thinks of you as a maggot; he’s upset watching your innocence get replaced with experience.” the Devil said.

The fly found himself saying, “He was naive to think anyone could protect innocence.”

The Devil said, “You are free to do whatever you want.”

The fly had a vision of how this encounter would go; he thought there were “ancient magical” rules, like he was only allowed to ask three questions total, and that’s it. But this current conversation felt simple and effortless. The fly felt like he could say or do anything, and the Devil would accept him.

“I encourage your freedom of choice and action,” the Devil said.

The fly flew as fast as he could, all around the hollow trunk. There were nicely gelled, cuts of cold beef and lamb, each one more decayed than the last. If the fly’s dad was here, he would bulge with ardent lust catalyzed by the rotted, gray-green flesh.

The fly asked, “Can my daddy come here too?”

The Devil said, “No.”

The fly then asked, “Should I stay friends with the frog or obey my father’s wishes and join the fly community in the west horse barn?”

The Devil said, “You should join the fly community in the west horse barn, but you are encouraged to do whatever you want.”

The fly asked, “I guess I’ll ask one more question and then leave. What will make the frog happy?”

The Devil said, “The absence of regret.”

The fly had an inkling this statement was profound. His father’s speeches, in front of town hall, also made him feel this way. He always learned life lessons listening to his dad’s speeches. And now the fly had the answer to “creating happiness?” It was the secret everyone would want to hear.

The fly and the Devil shared a friendly acknowledgment of the significant event the fly had felt transpired. Certainly, even if the fly’s dad was mad at him for disobeying him, the fly could just use the secret to happiness and erase his dad’s despair.

The fly flew to the exit; as he left, he asked the Devil, “Are you real?”

The fly looked back to witness the Devil’s answer, but the glowing hole was no more; it was an old tortured four-foot knot coiled and hardened up the side of the tree.

As the fly continued across the swamp water, sure enough the fish from earlier jumped up and tried to swallow the fly again.

The fly yelled down, “You wouldn’t want to kill me; I have the answer to happiness!”

The fish yelled back, “I’d be happy if you’d come closer to the water,” then he submerged with a plop, and the fly hurried along.

On the shore, the fly found the frog bathing in peat-moss and mud. The frog looked like he may’ve been crying. When the frog saw the fly, he asked, “What answer did the Devil give you? How can I be happy?”

The fly said, “The Devil said the absence of regret will bring you happiness.”

The frog looked out across the calm water, and contemplated the lush green tree where one could talk to the Devil.

The frog said, “Yesterday, your father came to tell me not to hang out with you anymore and I ate him. I didn’t know how to tell you. And I’ve felt bad about it for the past eighteen hours. With your deliverance of the Devil’s answer, you’ve given me salvation; you’ve given me happiness, and I thank you.”

The frog flung his sticky tongue against the fly, instantly lashing back into his mucus glazed mouth, savoring the pulped abdominal juices, and black speckled, flaked legs and wings. A pleasing flavor. Smooth. Satisfying. Delicious.