The lakozia brims with activity. Scores of juveniles flock to the water’s edge, chittering excitedly. In a rhythmic motion they split into groups, surrounding the setup of lush lily pads floating merrily upon the turquoise water. At the very edge of the lakozia lay a little embankment of sorts, on which stood two red toads donning tattered aprons, croaking audibly in what seemed like a moan, foreheads emblazoned with a frown. 

“Four leaves apiece,” each of them drones in unison before dumping a heap of sodden algae onto the wooden boards held up by each toad. “Ah, and let’s not forget, your two flies for the day.” 

Clutching onto their gooey slop, four toads of rather petite stature, albeit a little plump, tread their way to a lily pad in a deeper end of the lakozia. Embona, the smallest of the bunch, plops his bulging throat onto the lily pad and begins to scoop up algae with his tongue. “If only a trip to sisin’ny tanàna was an option…” he groans. “They’ve got the best slug soup! And it’s also for four leaves too!” 

“Don’t forget the worm satay! One leaf for three sticks!” Aina replies, her eyes perking up before she blinks forlornly.  

“And the caramelized beetle salad! How scrumptious…” Kintana adds. 

“There’s but no point in grumbling ad nauseum! You know we can’t go! It’s still morning! The snake flees sisin’ny tanàna at the zenith of the sun!” Fanilo, the brightest of the bunch, muses. The others laugh wryly in unison at the adage oft-repeated in jest. There was no snake. In the tanàna, one needed not worry about predators—though it was not the case that they did not exist. As with most predicaments in the tanàna, a system was developed such that specialists would handle them for the community. ‘In the tanàna, you do what you are best at, and only what you are best at’ was ingrained into the toads, along with the ominous thought that those lacking skills will not flourish. ‘“Diky”, we call them.’ That was exactly why the amphibious four were in the Pianarana that day—among two hundred juveniles spending their first two years post-metamorphosis mastering the culinary and architectural arts. Embona blurted out said term, albeit sheepishly, pointing at the lakozia cooks. The toads stare, resigned, at their overlords climbing out of the lake, crawling away upon land beyond the edge of the Pianarana. 

“We need not complain, Embona. It’s a step up from last year, when for the same price, we received one stale fly! One! Just one!” Kintana recollects. “And the overlords just kept mumbling about how no one wants to operate our lakozia, how we have to make do and we have no other choices, refusing to actually make us want to come here or, well, letting us not. While, themselves—do you see any of them here?” (Sir Frogson, chief overlord of the Pianarana, waved to the four with his scrolls as he waded landward.)  

“Bloody Frogson.” Embona comments, flapping his arms to aerate his suit as if to fan himself, appearing like a court jester. “Making us don this horrendous—it bogs us down when we swim!” For ‘formality’s sake’, Sir Frogson required that each toad had to attend their lectures in button-downs and dress pants. “It’s gonna prepare you for life in the tanàna!” As with everything. Allegedly. The toads of the tanàna either wore suits or worked in water. Or none. Never both. It wasn’t a good day for the four toads, who kept on grumbling about their peculiar circumstances.  

“Also, we can’t even go to the study islet! Sir Frogson needs his office renovated with fancy new fine-sand ‘flooring’, Persian rugs, paintings of himself, dioramas of himself, and whatnot, and he also needed a temporary office, and he never thought we’d want somewhere aboveground to go to consolidate our work! And he kept complaining about his circumstances while he was at it!” spoke Fanilo.  

“Sir Frogson also promised to plant new shoots for all our wash areas! He planted beautiful lilies, lush ferns, and striking moss-balls for the staff entrance and visitor’s entrance. Look at those near the student room. We’re left to relieve ourselves under dying duckweed,”  Aina lamented. 

“Guys, guys,” Kintana interjected, raising her hand as if to control the others’ attention such that it centred on her. “What use is all this grumbling if there’s not gonna be any change? And what use is hoping for change when there isn’t anyone that’s gonna make it happen?” 

Embona droned in answer, “No use. Who dares to speak up to Frogson?” 

“We all want to! But, we—” 

“Don’t.” Kintana completed Aina’s sentence. “But, what if we…” 

“Do.” Fanilo continued the flow of words. “In fact, us at the Pianarana Public Press, we tried.”  

“You did?” 

“We did—I spearheaded it. Obviously, it failed, and for obvious reason. We tried—albeit badly—” 

“How? Why?” 

“We can always try again. We needa know what we wanna—” 

“Yeah! What is the cause of our lamentation? What do we want?” Kintana clarified. 

“Edible food!” Aina gushed. 

“Reopen the study islet—or give us another one…” Fanilo thought aloud. 

“New shoots at our washareas, duh—” Embona added. 

“And not having to wear this cumbersome garb!” The toads croaked in unison. 

Kintana reached into her rucksack and in a flurry of swift penstrokes the four amphibians formulated a plan—a ‘manifesto’ if you will. Improve the quality of meals in the lakozia. Ensure students have an overland study space. Revamp our washareas as promised. Remove out-of-touch formal dress codes.  

Fanilo gingerly grasped  the piece of parchment before him, glancing to his left, then to his right. The other three looked up at him, awaiting something that was brewing. “Follow me.” The quartet glide through the waters to reach what seemed like a marshy end bounded on three corners by mossy shrubbery. Gulping in a large breath of air, they submerge themselves into the bayou. After a rapid descent to the lakebed, the four end up in a compartment of sorts—only open at the top and capped off on the other three sides by haphazardly erected brick walls. Some especially elongated bricks protruded awkwardly into the room and other irregularly shaped ones fought with each other for attention in what appeared as a weblike pattern. A banner struggled to mask the structural imperfections. ‘The Pianarana Public Press.’ 

 In the centre of the room stood a peculiar contraption: all that could be made of the yellowing mechanism was that it might have once been pearly white. Around that were about ten sets of tables and chairs in various poses among stacks of parchment. “The printing press,” Fanilo gurgled, kicking aside a bundle of duckweed. 

Aina reached her hand into the pile of parchment and pulled out a sheet. The Pianarana Periodical. Sharing Our Appreciation of the Lakozia. “What wonderful glazing.”  

“What else would they write?”  

“Many things, Embona. The question is what else could we publish about that type of stuff.” Fanilo yanked away the sheet and turned it around. How Frogson’s Tenure As Chief Overlord is Impacting Learners.  

“Y’all dared to write that?” Aina exclaimed. The group gathered to digest the contents of the article. “How did you guys get it—was it even published?” Kintana asked. Fanilo wiped his brow, “Long story.” 

“It’s pretty darn clever, though. Don’t you guys agree that it sounds as favourable towards Frogson as you can get while still airing—” Kintana added.  

Embona yawned. “You’ve gotta read between the lines to see most of their actual thoughts. Frogson had a problem with that? You mean, he can read?” 

“Making it sound good didn’t help. Overlord Ramsay sent it to the man himself. He didn’t bother reading it. It wasn’t very good anyway, half of the Pianarana would not have caught what we wanted to say. After ages, it finally got reviewed and it’s coming out soon. But Ramsay edited it into an entirely favourable piece. It’s a shell of its former self. I’m honestly ashamed of the end product.” 

“He sent it to Frogson? What’s the need for that?” Aina queried.  

“If a member of the Tanàna Senate wanted to say something about their leader, would they have to ask said leader first, let alone let them edit their speech?” Embona quipped.  

Fanilo gathers his three comrades around him. “You see, in the Pianarana, there’s a power dynamic. We’re young toads, and the overlords are, old toads, I guess, and they demand deference from us learners. However, they forget that when they are given such esteem, it comes with a responsibility. A responsibility bestowed upon them, as they are in charge of us, to think for us, to do what is best for us. That has been lost on them.  

“For some reason I dare not speculate on, they have taken such esteem for granted, perhaps as they are so absorbed by their power. They forget the heart of their work as they make themselves comfortable—they stop listening, then their words become empty. Their actions then focus on what they believe is a playbook—metrics for a functioning Pianarana, rather than upholding a functioning Pianarana. Rules. Once a means to safeguard us learners, now the end to which all means build.” 

“Because they do not care for us, we lose our esteem for them. But don’t forget, they have power. So they demand respect as a motion. To them, they get respect because of their role—while they throw to the wayside what their role entails. They forget they are caretakers, not rulers. When test scores are the highest they have been and we are falling into line better than ever, for them, what use is paying heed to our welfare? What use is getting back to the root of it?” 

“But what can we do about it?” Kintana asks Fanilo. 

“We need to keep lobbying for oursleves! Keep questioning. Some things make no sense! They have no benefit, only adverse impact. If something they do is unnecessarily hindering us, point it out. Especially if it’s an easy fix. Even when it’s hard. Even when we’re not helping them check off all their boxes. We need to fix their sights back on the core purpose of the Pianarana.” 

“How profound!” Aina praises Fanilo. 

“And idealistic. Look at our current climate. How are we gonna say anything, let alone make the Pianarana—and its leaders—hear our voices?” Embona posits. 

“It’s hard, but it’s all about having the courage to speak up. It’s all about pushing and surfacing it when we can tell something could be better. It’s not about lashing out at the overlords for creating this predicament, it’s about showing them the very predicament and our ideas and plans to fix it. Look at it this way—if no one speaks up, silence. If we do, it’s definitely gonna be a great deal more than silence. We would have sown the seeds for reform. Kintana, can you pass me the manifesto?” Fanilo continues, attempting to inspire his group. 

“Alright,” Kintana answers, her eyes skeptical but hopeful.  

“I’m going to write a short story. Please join me.”