Storm of a different color

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Oliver asked. He looked out on the horizon then back at his new car from the covered porch.

“Nope,” Al said as he got as close to the porch railing as he dared.

The big green bullfrogs had been raining down for ten minutes already. They smacked against the gutters and got hung up in the trees before they flopped to the ground. Their broken limbs tried to hop but it was more like a strained push than anything else.

“When do you suppose it will stop?” Oliver said.

Al settled into one of the mildew covered plastic chairs and took a long draw on the beer he had started earlier. It was warm but the flies weren't bothering it. “Don't know,” he said after his moment of reflection.

“Do ya think it's doing this in Calaveras county?”

Al smiled. “We could go for a drive and find out.”

Oliver cringed as a particularly large one broke his windshield and slid down the cherry red finish to the ground. He settled into a chair next to Al's. “Maybe later.”