Wednesday, February 11, 2015

A Fish Story

My favorite goldfish, Spooky, passed away today. He was a beautiful fish painted with the milky, swirly blue clouds that smash against an airplane window. The light blues faded into sharp, bright orange streaks that cut into charcoal black blotches, as if ink had been splattered between his eyes and on his back fin. He was a mellow guy, always drifting backwards away from the light into the plants--always the last one to eat. His eyes were bruised and sad with rings around them like two black eyes or crying eyes on a pretty girl. Sunkist, my perky pillow white and blood orange goldfish told me he was dead. I leaned into the aquarium glass, enlarging my reflection. Sunkist stuck her nose to the glass and began frantically waving her tail and stretching her head back and forth like a fantastic eel. She was telling me something. In the backdrop of her spastic dance, I could see Spooky in the corner of the tank sucked vertically onto the filter, limp and translucent, glowy white with his liquid black blotches drained from his scales. I noticed my bottom feeder all sheepish and still, hiding behind her ceramic castle, with the slow-moving eyes of a butcher. She has been violently kicking up gravel all week. I wonder what happened to Spooky. I'll miss you, Spooky. RIP