“What is it like in the outside world?” asked Goldfish.
“I sleep, I avoid fly swatters, I eat doo-doo.”
Goldfish found this tale utterly fascinating. He thought Fly must be important, perhaps a high-ranking political leader or a sea captain. “Do you tap many asses out there?”
“Not generally,” said Fly. “It’s tough out there. You've got it made here. You have everything you need.”
“No disrespect, but you are a lowly fly,” rebuffed Goldfish. “You are common. Simple. Doo-doo makes you happy. I have higher aspirations. I wish to write poetry. Drink vintage wine. Attend the theater. Tap many asses.”
Fly eyed him, curious. He had never met a fish quite like Goldfish. “How do you know of these things?” he asked.
“The human TV,” answered Goldfish.
“You shouldn't watch TV,” said Fly. “Fish in the wild have never seen TV. It is a bad influence. It provides unrealistic expectations. Fish should not know of such things.”
Goldfish was happy to have a visitor. His mind was racing with a million questions. “What do candy bars taste like?” he asked.
“Like doo-doo. With sugar.”
“What does an apple taste like?”
“Not like doo-doo.”
“Have you met the Justin Bieber?” asked Goldfish.
“No.”
Then there was another long silence. Goldfish studied Fly. He contemplated their discussion and finally decided that he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Can you help me escape?” asked Goldfish.
“What?”
“If I could escape this bowl, I would establish a platform and fight global warming. I would build homes for orphans. I would abolish movies featuring talking dogs. I would fight zombies and attend karaoke bars and eliminate erectile dysfunction. I would change the world, Fly!”
Fly thought about this for a moment. “You're a dreamer.”
There was no response.
Goldfish floated motionless, staring ahead. Fly sat motionless on the table.
Goldfish then asked, “I wonder, Fly, if you and I could ever become friends and exchange text messages?”
“It's unlikely,” responded Fly. “We're of two different worlds, Goldfish. You're of the water and I'm of the air. Our species rarely interact. And when we do, it's usually after one of your kind is deceased -- rotting and decaying.”
“I see,” said Goldfish. “You have eaten my species?”
“Yes,” answered Fly.
More silence as Goldfish contemplated this revelation. He wondered about this strange world he lived in, where a lowly fly could eat one of his kind. Goldfish suddenly wished he had a bow-and-arrow so he could kill Fly.
Meanwhile, Fly had other things on his mind. “I've often wondered...” said Fly. “When a fish drinks water, do they simply drink the water they're swimming in? Or do they go to a specific location and drink a certain type of water?”
“I wouldn't know,” said Goldfish, who now decided that Fly was rather stupid. “Having lived in a bowl for my entire existence, I've never had a choice in the matter.”
Goldfish contemplated this further. “One time my bowl was next to the window. I had a remarkable view. There were flowers, mailboxes, trees, kitty cats... even a creek. If I could have somehow gotten out the window and made it to that creek, then maybe I would have found the answer...”
Fly nodded. Finally he asked, “What do you think about when you're swimming back and forth in your bowl all day?”
“I'm plotting my escape,” said Goldfish. “I come up with various plans and tactics. But then at the end of each day I come to the same conclusion: I have no damn arms or legs. I can't go freakin’ anywhere. So then I sleep.”
“Hmm...” said Fly.
“Some days are more difficult than others,” added Goldfish. “Sometimes I even -- ”
“Your story grows tiresome,” said Fly, cutting him off. “I need doo-doo. Bye.”
There was a BUZZING sound as Fly suddenly shot through the air and departed.
Goldfish panicked. “Wait! Fly! Come back!”
Silence. Fly was gone.
Goldfish stared ahead, motionless. He suddenly became sad that he would never have the chance to watch a reality TV program with Fly. He would never know Fly’s opinions on acne cream and birth control.
More silence.
“I should not have gotten my hopes up,” said Goldfish quietly to himself. “Besides, what could a lowly fly do?”
Outside the window, a bird sang joyfully. Goldfish somehow wished he could see this uplifting vocalist.
“A bird...” Goldfish whispered to himself. “If only I could become friends with a bird. Then maybe I could convince it to take me in its beak, fly out the window and take me to that creek!”
Goldfish stared ahead, motionless, thinking. Justin Bieber stared back at him from the wall, seeming unwilling to help.
Suddenly the bird outside stopped its singing. Goldfish wondered about the bird -- what its name was, what it looked like, where it had gone... and if would it return.
Then there was another long silence as Goldfish contemplated his curious life.
“I miss Fly,” said Goldfish. “I hope he returns someday.”
He glanced out the window, but all he could see was the blue sky and telephone lines. His thoughts returned to the creek. He wondered what other species of fish inhabited the creek. He was eager to find out. One day he would surely find out...
THE END
About the author:
Jason K. Allen is a writer and filmmaker from Nashville, Tennessee. He is also a wilderness guide, nature photographer, and an interpretive specialist for Tennessee State Parks.
Discover other titles by Jason K. Allen:
The Dead Need Nature, Too
The Horse-Drawn Hearse
Sometimes They Get Hungry
Connect with me:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/allen.jason.k
IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm3021924
The Zombie Who Liked Fred Astaire Page 2