by Jon Lymon
Two
Gloria didn’t sleep well that night. Millie’s behaviour was confusing and annoying her. What did she see in Bertie? Did she like him better than she liked her? He was like all the other boys, full of himself, and a little creepy.
When she awoke it was still early, but she noticed something shining on the sea bed, reflecting the glint of the early morning light that shone down from the surface.
Gloria swam over to take a closer look.
OUCH!
The object had sharp edges which hurt the tip of her fin as she reached out to touch it.
She hovered over the top of the object and looked down into it. Immediately, she jumped back. There was a fish inside the object, staring back at her.
She edged closer and took another look.
There it was again, staring back at her. She swam around the object, taking a look at it from different angles. It was thin. Too thin for a fish to live inside.
She took another look. The fish was still there. Only this was no ordinary fish. It wasn’t gold like her or Millie or even Bertie for that matter. This fish was white.
She looked into the object again and decided the best thing to do was introduce herself.
‘Hello, my name’s Glor…’
She stopped herself. The other fish was copying what she was saying, word for word.
‘My name’s Gloria,’ said Gloria. Again, the other fish copied her.
Gloria was confused. How did it know what she was going to say? It must have been a very clever fish. Then she supposed that saying her name wasn’t that unusual, so maybe the fish wasn’t that clever.
‘Ugger malada bestwi trondyheim.’ They were words Gloria had never said before (and probably never would again) and yet the fish in the object said them back to her at exactly the same time as she said them.
And every time Gloria moved, this other fish made the same moves.
She looked at the pale, sickly looking fish that stared back at her from inside the object and felt sorry for it.
‘This is a stupid game,’ she said. As she moved away she froze and gasped.
She glanced back into the object, at the bulging eyes staring back at her.
She gasped again.
‘No, no, it can’t be,’ she whispered, barely able to believe what she was about to say. ‘That can’t be…me?’
She wanted to cry. What was wrong with her? Was it because she was so shocked that the colour had drained from her scales? Was that why she looked so pale? Or maybe she was ill.
She waited a few minutes for her gold to return, then took another look. No change. She remained bleached white.
What had happened to her?
Then suddenly something occurred to her.
‘What if somebody’s stolen my gold,’ she exclaimed.
Her eyes narrowed.
‘Somebody has stolen my gold. And I bet I know who it is.’