The Day That Fish Died…

My friend had a fish in her office once. As I visited her, I took notice of it. “Fish looks miserable,” I commented. “Yeah,” she said, “he certainly does.” I stared at it for a moment. “How about I take it home with me?” So I took it home and placed him near a window, where he would see outside for the first time in his life, as his old home was one which contained no windows.

He was a good fish. Never did come up with a name for him though. I called him “That Fish” to my friends. He seemed pretty happy for the next few months.

Recently, however, he went back to being a depressed looking fish. He looked exactly the way he did in that windowless office. One day, last week sometime, I brought his bowl over to the sink so I could clean it out and give him some fresh water.

I never really understood people’s fascination with keeping a bird or a fish as a pet. Birds can fly wherever the fuck they want to anywhere, yet, some silly white bastard has to cage them and stare at them 10 minutes a day while speaking gibberish towards it. I bet if these birds had fingers, they’d have killed themselves long ago.

Same goes for fishes.

As I started to drain his little bowl of the foul water, he didn’t appear to try and swim away from the draining water as he usually does. Instead, he headed straight for it and, before I could even blink, he fell into the sink. Luckily, I was able to grab him right quick and put him into the new bowl. I continued cleaning it while thinking, “That was a close one.”

Now he was in a different bowl with the same dirty water from the previous bowl. I had to drain this dirty water in order to put him back into the new bowl. I started dumping the water out while using a net against it in case he tried to make a break for it again. Unluckily, he succeeded in making another break for the sink. Unluckily, I wasn’t able to save him this time. He fell on to the metal part of the drain and just as I was about to snatch him, he slid right down the drain and journeyed down into a world of shit, piss, and used condoms.

I felt awful.

fishy

This Empty Bowl (3/2009)

He’s never tried to do that at all, but on this simple day, he tries it twice? How can that be? Regardless, his mission towards suicide was a success. But I felt real bad about draining the hot water from my spaghetti that night down the same drain. It was like I was pouring one on my homie instead of for him.

Author: bronsonfive

Film, movies, whatever.

11 thoughts on “The Day That Fish Died…”

  1. I’m enjoying the distance in wall.It suits this picture to the maximum, it’s ballin. Sorry about your fish. I have a pet bird, we don’t clip her wings, or close her in a cage and she’s cool. She rides around on my shoulder and chirps in my ear…then bites it, but shes awesome! fish is a sad pet…everyone with a crappy life always says, it’s like living my life in a fishbowl!

  2. Jenn: Yes, sadly, it’s all true.

    Bridge: Sad Giraffe deserves more.

    Bones: It’s all that 90s hip-hop.

    Anne: Turn that frown upside down.

    462: Birds shit everywhere. How many shirts has she ruined?

  3. Lol, my roommate had a fish once. She left its bowl in the bathroom one day, before going to work because she was going to clean it when she got back. It jumped out of the bowl and landed in the sink, where it scared the crap out of my girlfriend. When I tried to get it, it slid down the drain. My roommate came back adn thought I had purposely threw it down the drain.

  4. A LOT!!! Psh, I can buy more shirts, i can’t buy more bird love…well actually i can…but ykwim, not from this bird. ha ha my bird makes me happy, no matter how much she poops. :)

  5. I can relate. I had a tarantula for twelve years. Tarantulas (at least of this species) don’t mind living in a glass tank, at all. In fact, many people would consider them boring, because they’ll stay in exactly the same position for days (they’re extremely laid-back). Still, she brought life to my house, just being here–and I became quite accustomed to her presence.

    One day, I noticed she was eaten-up with mites. Mites come from the remains of a tarantula’s food (crickets, in this case). You have to remove the remains, after it has eaten–but it’s impossible to remove them completely, because some of the remains are too small to see. So you have to clean the tank, and replace the substrate–which I failed to do often enough.

    I cleaned the tank, and replaced the substrate. But she was still scratching. So I made a big mistake–I rinsed her off in the bathroom sink. I did this very carefully, as not to drown her, and she seemed fine afterward. But she died slowly, after I’d put her back in the clean tank. I had drowned her.

    I didn’t cry, until I buried her in the front yard. That’s when it hit me. It was sad enough that she was dead, but knowing I had killed her (although accidentally) made it alot worse. For twelve years, she had been a good companion, and now I was truly alone.

    It’s been about two years, since my pet died–but I haven’t gotten another yet. I definitely want a dog, next time, but caring for one takes so much responsibility (spiders do not like to be held, dogs need to be)–so I don’t know when I ever will.

    This experience didn’t teach me anything (except not to ever rinse-off a tarantula)–just reinforced something I already knew: “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

  6. Watch Paulie, it fits your criteria for gut wrenchingly depressing movies, and it’s got a birdie!!!! I love that movie, but I’ve only seen it once(like requiem) bc it makes me cry, but that kind of cry when it hurts your ribs and has you toppled over in emotional pain. Btw, we don’t clip our birds wings, and we dont lock it in a cage.

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