Writers’ Corner

You see me at the petstore. I cannot make out your face; to me, it is simply a moving mass of pink that stares at me with eyes larger than my body. You are terrifying.

I swim in my own filth, detritus clouding the water around me and laboring my breathing. My gills flare, trying to soak in every bit of oxygen my tiny plastic prison holds. So many days I have been lying here, each day sapping my strength just a little bit more. My colors fade away. My fins, once so long and beautiful, become ragged things with rotting black edges. Is this my life now? Will I wither away and die in this tiny cup? 

AsI lay there, you pick up my cup, jostling me though you try to be gentle. 

And then I am moving. 

Carried away from my shelf and into sunlight. 

I am carried for what feels like forever, and then set down. 

Water, pure water, drips into my cup. I drink it in, savoring every bit. 

Slowly, periodically, you add more water to my cup. 

And then, in one terrifying moment, I am lifted out of the water and into a world of suffocation and dry air. 

But then, I am returned to the water. 

And it is beautiful. 

Green plants surround me, waving gently in the small current. Every breath is pure oxygen, clean and different from everything I have known. 

I have room to move. To live. 

Every day, you treat me with medicine and leaves, never missing a dose. Slowly, my color returns and my fins heal. I have all the food I could ever need, clean water, and a home that is more beautiful than i could ever have imagined.

Thank you, human.

You saved my life.

I am home.