Frog

It died in a shoe box next to the microwave. The sun struck the window and the heat magnified as it spread across the plastic coated countertop.
Its little legs squirmed as the sun burnt into the cardboard box. Kicking with its frail clawed feet, it struggled to tear a hole in the corner. It wriggled and twisted as the heat baked its lungs and roasted the fluid from its skin.
The body was hard and wrinkled, warped into the shape of a small stone, when a freckled hand plucked it from the shoe box. Rolling it back and forth across his fingers, the boy carried the warm withered body into the bathroom. Beneath the wooden cross that hung over the toilet, he pushed the lever down and watched the swirling water flush it away.
Out the window, the sun began to slowly drift toward the horizon and sharp chirps cried out in the distance. Hearing the familiar squeaks, the boy lifted his shoe box and ran out the door into the dusk.