Goldfish and Others
What is school to a seven-year-old? It’s a chore.
The boy dragged his feet back home, shoes dusty from running on baked earth and hair scruffy, skewered in every which way. His mom always lamented at his appearance after school, and it left him delighted. There was a streak of mud on his face from a fall, and a scraped knee from PE class, but none of that mattered as he walked home from the bus stop.
He was excited to see his pets.
The day before, his parents had surprised him with four fish bigger than his pinkie, four of the frightened kind, though he did not know any better then. To him, they were creatures subject to his great curiosity, to his attention.
He raced the rest of the way home. They had a maid, and she was disgruntled, wiping his face down. He enjoyed playing with her, but she played with him less often in the then week, day, month. What is time to a child?
He was forced to get into the bath, as he detested them, and once clean, was finally able to lovingly gaze at the glass globe-like thing that was now home to four creatures.
There were two goldfish, slow and sluggish in movement. They were a pretty sight to behold, and their wide mouths never failed to make him laugh, but it was the other two fish that left him mesmerized. They had flat, triangular silhouettes, streamlined and thin-finned. Their black bodies with silver stripes and their never blinking eyes that held his gaze make the two his favorites. He knew they weren’t goldfish, clearly, but he didn’t know what they were. He had not seen them in any encyclopaedia, despite looking for them for fifteen minutes, though to him it felt like hours. So, he never gave them names, only called them ‘others’ in his head.
He had to feed the goldfish and others. Goldfish and others, goldfish and…
He loved watching them, especially when he was not supposed to. To him, it had been years since he got his companions, though it had only been a few weeks in reality. He was pressed for time, having to finish homework for the next day's class. He did not yet learn the word "deadlines,” but the concept was familiar, though silly to him. He sneaked off his unnaturally tall chair and looked again at the trails the fish made, constant changing constellations in the work.
His mother was what he would call a trouble detector, because she would always catch him in the midst of his mischief. However, this time he called her to him.
His mom came to his room, a frown on her face. She was tired from work and wanted to rest, but he couldn’t see that, as his eyes were fixed onto the globe-like bowl.
“What’s the matter?”
The matter was that one of the goldfish, which was lazy to begin with, did not move. This was not strange to him in the onset, as he figured even fish would like to sit back and enjoy. But it had not moved for a good while, and he was starting to get worried.
“It’s because you keep feeding it all the time.”
This made him cross. He did not feed them more than twice a day, and he was very careful not to give them more than they can handle. It sounded like it was his fault, which he felt was untrue.
She brushed him off, and that was that.
After two weeks, when he went to change the water, he felt one stiff body in his net, motionless and long gone. He stared at it in his blue little plastic net and looked for a long time. He put it back into the water, in hopes of it swimming all of a sudden, but there was no movement. He finally cupped it in his palm, unsure how to feel about the whole incident. He dug a hole in his backyard and buried its little body, and then told his parents over the phone.
It took three tries to reach his dad, and two for his mom. He was met with an apology of sorts, which he couldn’t comprehend.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked.
His dad initially seemed at a loss of words. He eventually decided on, “Because you lost a friend.”
The boy took this with a silent nod of his head which was invisible to his dad over the phone and hung up.
The second goldfish also died.
The word death felt foreign in the boy’s mouth. He’d been told that once something dies, they get turned into stars, so he stared at the night sky at odd intervals. He thought he might find his fish, his two weak goldfish. But space was too vast, and time was short, and it never felt right. He once wondered if they don’t get turned into stars at all, but the idea was met with internal conflict and so he put the idea to rest.
He was upset before, but he was truly devastated when one of the other’s died. He somehow believed that these two would be exempt from the same fate. He felt a twinge of regret when he fished out the dead body. Did he really feed them too much? Was this his fault?
He looked at the last fish, swimming in the globe with fake seaweed dancing underneath it.
“Is it my fault?” he asked.
He received no reply.
The last fish soon stopped swimming and instead burrowed its face into the gravel. The boy already knew that he would disappear like the rest.
His dad walked by and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if to give comfort.
“I wish I knew why they are dying,” the boy asked.
“Maybe they are lonely,” he said after a bit, perhaps in an attempt to humor him. The boy did not understand. They were not alone at all, were they?
He tapped on the glass after his dad left and whispered, “I am here. I am here. You are not alone.”
The Goldfish and Other’s slipped off his mind once the bodies were laid to rest. His mom muttered that it was good as the fish smell got to her. His dad forgot all about the incident and went back to his work.
They got a cat next.
The boy dragged his feet back home, shoes dusty from running on baked earth and hair scruffy, skewered in every which way. His mom always lamented at his appearance after school, and it left him delighted. There was a streak of mud on his face from a fall, and a scraped knee from PE class, but none of that mattered as he walked home from the bus stop.
He was excited to see his pets.
The day before, his parents had surprised him with four fish bigger than his pinkie, four of the frightened kind, though he did not know any better then. To him, they were creatures subject to his great curiosity, to his attention.
He raced the rest of the way home. They had a maid, and she was disgruntled, wiping his face down. He enjoyed playing with her, but she played with him less often in the then week, day, month. What is time to a child?
He was forced to get into the bath, as he detested them, and once clean, was finally able to lovingly gaze at the glass globe-like thing that was now home to four creatures.
There were two goldfish, slow and sluggish in movement. They were a pretty sight to behold, and their wide mouths never failed to make him laugh, but it was the other two fish that left him mesmerized. They had flat, triangular silhouettes, streamlined and thin-finned. Their black bodies with silver stripes and their never blinking eyes that held his gaze make the two his favorites. He knew they weren’t goldfish, clearly, but he didn’t know what they were. He had not seen them in any encyclopaedia, despite looking for them for fifteen minutes, though to him it felt like hours. So, he never gave them names, only called them ‘others’ in his head.
He had to feed the goldfish and others. Goldfish and others, goldfish and…
He loved watching them, especially when he was not supposed to. To him, it had been years since he got his companions, though it had only been a few weeks in reality. He was pressed for time, having to finish homework for the next day's class. He did not yet learn the word "deadlines,” but the concept was familiar, though silly to him. He sneaked off his unnaturally tall chair and looked again at the trails the fish made, constant changing constellations in the work.
His mother was what he would call a trouble detector, because she would always catch him in the midst of his mischief. However, this time he called her to him.
His mom came to his room, a frown on her face. She was tired from work and wanted to rest, but he couldn’t see that, as his eyes were fixed onto the globe-like bowl.
“What’s the matter?”
The matter was that one of the goldfish, which was lazy to begin with, did not move. This was not strange to him in the onset, as he figured even fish would like to sit back and enjoy. But it had not moved for a good while, and he was starting to get worried.
“It’s because you keep feeding it all the time.”
This made him cross. He did not feed them more than twice a day, and he was very careful not to give them more than they can handle. It sounded like it was his fault, which he felt was untrue.
She brushed him off, and that was that.
After two weeks, when he went to change the water, he felt one stiff body in his net, motionless and long gone. He stared at it in his blue little plastic net and looked for a long time. He put it back into the water, in hopes of it swimming all of a sudden, but there was no movement. He finally cupped it in his palm, unsure how to feel about the whole incident. He dug a hole in his backyard and buried its little body, and then told his parents over the phone.
It took three tries to reach his dad, and two for his mom. He was met with an apology of sorts, which he couldn’t comprehend.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked.
His dad initially seemed at a loss of words. He eventually decided on, “Because you lost a friend.”
The boy took this with a silent nod of his head which was invisible to his dad over the phone and hung up.
The second goldfish also died.
The word death felt foreign in the boy’s mouth. He’d been told that once something dies, they get turned into stars, so he stared at the night sky at odd intervals. He thought he might find his fish, his two weak goldfish. But space was too vast, and time was short, and it never felt right. He once wondered if they don’t get turned into stars at all, but the idea was met with internal conflict and so he put the idea to rest.
He was upset before, but he was truly devastated when one of the other’s died. He somehow believed that these two would be exempt from the same fate. He felt a twinge of regret when he fished out the dead body. Did he really feed them too much? Was this his fault?
He looked at the last fish, swimming in the globe with fake seaweed dancing underneath it.
“Is it my fault?” he asked.
He received no reply.
The last fish soon stopped swimming and instead burrowed its face into the gravel. The boy already knew that he would disappear like the rest.
His dad walked by and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if to give comfort.
“I wish I knew why they are dying,” the boy asked.
“Maybe they are lonely,” he said after a bit, perhaps in an attempt to humor him. The boy did not understand. They were not alone at all, were they?
He tapped on the glass after his dad left and whispered, “I am here. I am here. You are not alone.”
The Goldfish and Other’s slipped off his mind once the bodies were laid to rest. His mom muttered that it was good as the fish smell got to her. His dad forgot all about the incident and went back to his work.
They got a cat next.
About the Author
Mahika Mukherjee (20 years old, India) is not a reader or a writer, but a secret third thing. She would tell you, but it is a secret after all. She ignores her Biology textbooks and crochets in her free time. You can read her musings at mahikamukherjee.com, and her evolution blog at mahikamukherjee.com/evolving-stories.