Dead Fish

On occasion, I head over to the shore where lines of merchant set up shop. I usually avoid it due to the often potent smell that comes the fisher mens stalls. The air was thick and heavy with all assortments of foul odors, only a small wind of the ocean breeze to break it. Vendors shouted about their sales and assortment of goods, distracting my thoughts. 

While making my way though the people, I happened upon a sight that halted me in my tracks. In one of the old wooden creates of fish and nets, I saw a grotesque, unsetting creature. It was- perhaps , a fish. I question it because something was profoundly wrong. Its body was fat and golden, but its eye was large , great and disturbing human. It started back at me with the most sneitnwt intensity. The golden fish withed and flared. Its movements were erratic and desperate as it grasps for breathe, for life. 

This wave of pity and yes- horror washed over me. I quickly turned my attention to the aged man behind the conter, 

“You can not leave it like that” Spurring my voice had all the smimitlies of a father solving his son. :It’s suffering.”

The man turned to his, his face- from what I could see behind his greay bread was expressionless, almost detached, He shrugged, showing his indifference. 

“It’s just a fish” he voiced while gutting another catch. It doesn’t matter whether I leave it or not, its all the same in the end.”

I have never been a man stuccoed in justice yet I wanted to save it, to ease its pain I turned away, my heart enextacply heavy. A feeling I could not articulate. As I walked though the market, the calls of the vendors and the thunder of the crowed faded into a dull roar. The image of that horrid golden fish with its human eye lingered in my mind. The market’s bustle did nothing to distract me. 

The trip to the market was in an attempt to brighten my sprits before the work day. For work, I cannot complain as many find themselves lacking. My place of work a remains a cozy nook in my own corner. I at times feel useful fulfilling the needs of those who ask. Each task might be trivial  or tedious, but without fail, I send them back. A reopaption, sometimes comforting, sometimes stifling. 

One one such message, the costumer ask me for my own option. This is not new, I often receive commands for what the best birthday gift might be or the best place to I=vist for someone with low means to do so. But this command stood out to me.  Bold black letters upon a glowing white screen:

“ And what did you think of the dead fish?”

I turned to my left, glancing at my co-workers, thinking this might be some prank they’re pulling on me. I then hunched back into my chair. No- they couldn’t have known about my walk to the market this morning. Nor my encounter with the fisherman or the golden fish. A sudden clok of unease covered me and my heart began to race. It couldn’t be the fishermen either as he has no way of knowing my profession. And indeed the likely hood of such a message being sent to me and not my other colleagues is very low. 

My mind begins to spin and I feel sick. It is then that the computer reminds me of my response time  and I try my best to recompose myself. 

“ I try to think nothing of it now” 

I respond. Hoping this will be enough to sattfify the customer, close the ticket and be done with it. 

Three dotting appear on the screen and then:

“ You could have tried harder to save it you know?” 

An anger begins to rise within me, my skin hot. Without thought I respond with swiftness and anger. 

“And what would you have done?” 

A moment passes. And then another. Their silence only angered me more. I let my head hang as I recollect myself. Drawing in deep breathes while the thought of all the irregular things that have occurred to me. After I felt my heart has sufficiently calmed down, I raised my head to see that the customer has left the conversation. I quickly close the ticket. The now blank stark white screen cast a cold glow over me.  

feeling a hollow sense of completion but a ray of happiness? It was over and I was glad it was so, The room began to feel colder and heavy. I could taste the sea salt on my tongue and feel __. This is all in my head, I know yet this does nothing to clam my nerves. I reached for my mug, only to find the mirror image of the gurotiesy eye from the dead fish. A white glossy sheen covering it. 

I felt sick and fell to my knees, a cold sensation washing over them the second they hit the ground. I open my eyes and notice that the office is beginning to flood. I franatuacly turn my head, examining the faces of my co workers, clam in their seats. Unmoving, unwavering, uncovered by the cold salty waters pooling at their sleek leather loafers. 

I get off my knees, my pleated pants now soaking. I stood there in awe and disbelief at what was unfolding in front of me. Just then a ringing “ding” drew me out of my trance. I snapped my neck to my screen.

A new command. 

“You ask me what I would  I do if I had seen the fish?” 

Now this was unique. A customer asking the worker for their option of them. It was intriguing and frighting all the same. 

I took a breath and grabbed the back of the chair. I took a seat at my desk after a long pasuse.

“Yes”

All the while I can feel the water now seeping into my shoes. The unmistakable tang of the sea filled my lungs.

“At the very least, I would take it to the ocean to remind it was what it once had.”

The customers response insights a chuckle from me. Was it an atempt to be philosophical ? 

“At the end of the day, it was simply s fish. Although I did feel for it, theres only so much I could do to change its material condition.” I responded , hoping to end the customers attempt to preach to me. “

I leaned forward, gripping the edges of my desk as if holding on so tightly that my knuckles turned white could anchor me back into reality. I turned my head once more to the others around me. Their head bowed, fingering tapping. The water was now licking at my calves and a primal urge to flee began to swell within me. I continued to glance around wildly, hoping for some sign of acknowledgment from my coworkers some indication that I was not alone, but their faces remained indifferent. 

Then the fimailer 3 dots reappred on my screen 

“I would do the same for you.” 

I stare at the black pixels on the screen

“-return you back, so you could know the true nature of your condition. Just as I am now”

Although my blood is now turning cold, I could feel myself beginning to sweat. My breathing quickened, panicked and ragged as the water crept up to my knees and the cold water sunk seeping into my skin. I tried my best to ignore the rising tide. 

“This is all some elaborate trick yes? Good, it is impressive but I don’t have time for tricks. “

But the seed of doubt has grown. I now begin to observe my surrounding with a inquisitive eye. The faces in the room begin to blur. I am going mad. Do none of them really notice what is happening? 

“I am sorry to waste your time, you might be right. It might all be the same in the in. Perhaps then, ill leave you with this, write for me what escaping means to you” 

And then the customer closed out the conversation, staffed with the support. Although I knew I was surrounded ,I left left alone with myself. 

They are not directions, they are my purpose. The ticket has closed and now new commands continue to arrive. 

I have found no solace, and the truth has done little to change my reality.