I'm waitin' for the frogs to fall down on me...
On Tuesday October 27, as the clock strikes midnight, all the blood in Chicago shifts back into water. Dead animals line the edge of the water, where animals flock to drag the carcasses away to feast after they've drank their fill, fish float to the top of the lake to be easily picked off by birds and other wildlife, and red stains remain in the streets and fountains and everywhere the blood touched, a symbol of what occurred the day before.
A crack of thunder, loud enough to shatter heavens, follows the chime of the clock. The storm clouds that have been gathering since the night before grow increasingly more threatening. A heavy rain begins to fall, quite normal at first- innocuous, really.
As if produced by some unseen hand, the heavy droplets of water are joined by a rain of frogs dropping from the sky and splattering on the pavement below. Some manage to survive and hop, disoriented, through the Chicago streets until the pavement is littered with frogs, both living and dead.
The rain of frogs will continue throughout the day, until the clock strikes midnight again.
Two plagues down, Chicago, eight more to go.
A crack of thunder, loud enough to shatter heavens, follows the chime of the clock. The storm clouds that have been gathering since the night before grow increasingly more threatening. A heavy rain begins to fall, quite normal at first- innocuous, really.
As if produced by some unseen hand, the heavy droplets of water are joined by a rain of frogs dropping from the sky and splattering on the pavement below. Some manage to survive and hop, disoriented, through the Chicago streets until the pavement is littered with frogs, both living and dead.
The rain of frogs will continue throughout the day, until the clock strikes midnight again.
Two plagues down, Chicago, eight more to go.