You stand at the edge of a small raised stage, surrounded on all sides by another stage. A spotlight burns your skin, and as your eyes adjust, you see the giants all around you. You sit, patiently awaiting the sequence of sound and direction from your director.
To your right, a giant holds a black box, and inside the box is someone that mimics your every move. You turn your head. They turn theirs. You blink, and while you cannot see them blink, you assume they do, because they have done everything you have thus far. You are used to this. They are at every one of your performances, and you used to try to speak to them, and while they move their mouths at the same time, no sound comes out. You have since stopped, but think that since they do every thing that you do and appear to speak when you speak, they must know what you would say already.
Still, being able to hear them might make this less confusing, or less lonely.
You hear your director speak in a language you cannot understand. He is speaking to the other giants. You never know what he is saying, but sometimes you make up a dialogue in your head.
"I am as stupid as a fly," he says.
"I cannot catch my food, so I eat plants covered in bug poop," he says. He bares his teeth at this, much like the giant's furry guard. You have learned that when the guardian does this, he is being aggressive. The giant does not like it when the guardian does this, but when the giant bares his teeth, he is pleased. It means I get treats, usually.
The giant continues on. Occasionally, you try to interrupt him. He very rarely pays you attention, but when you are very loud, he turns around and says something to you in his strange language, and then the audience gets very loud. They bark at you, not unlike the guardian, but they are of the giant's species, so you are not scared.
The audience thunders. This means the performance is about to start.
The director turns to you and motions for you to stand. You stand.
The director motions for the loud sounds. This is what you perform to. You like them, mostly because they are soothing and make the giants hush.
You move in the ways he directs you, although you know the motions.
Turn. Lift one leg, then switch, and switch, and switch. Swing one arm, and then the other. Turn. And so on.
The noise stops, and the giants get as loud as they become all night. Your giant waves to you, signaling for you to bend down. He turns and does the same.
You sit down. The spotlight turns off, and your giant picks you up and places you in your home. Your skin is dry, as it usually is after a performance. You hop into the water. It stings, and it feels like your skin will never not be dry again, but it will.
You close your eyes and still yourself.
The giant turns off the sun.
This will start again when he turns the sun back on.
This is what it means to be the first dancing frog.