01/06/2026
The Frog lived in a pond governed by a delicate balance—a set of rules and ways of life that kept the water clear and the lilies blooming. One day, a Scorpion from a distant, arid land arrived at the water's edge. He had fled a place of endless stinging and scorched earth, a culture that had ultimately consumed itself.
"I wish to live in your land," the Scorpion pleaded. "My home is in ruins, and your water is life. I beg you take me to the other shore with you."
The Frog, moved by a sense of duty to be kind, hesitated. He knew the Scorpion’s history—it was written in the venom of his tail and the ruins he left behind. But the Frog was a creature of the Pond, where the prevailing belief was that every guest is a potential friend, and every culture is equally compatible with the water.
"I will," the Scorpion promised. "I seek only peace."
The Frog did not ask for proof. He did not test the Scorpion’s resolve or ensure he had truly left the desert behind. He simply offered his back, believing that the beauty of the pond alone would change the heart of the guest.
Halfway across, the sting came—sharp, sudden, and indifferent.
As the Frog began to sink, his limbs heavy with venom, he cried out, "Why? I gave you a home. I gave you a future. Now we both lose everything."
The Scorpion, already looking back toward the shore where others like him waited, replied, "You invited a guest, but you forgot to ask if he wanted to be a neighbor. I did not come to become a frog; I came to survive as a scorpion. It is your fault for thinking the pond was stronger than my blood."