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Almost Sushi

Him? You picked him? What’s so special about him? He hasn’t got any of my colour, any of my shine. Sure he can swim fast, but where’s the grace in that, the refinement? Why do you keep going for the ones you’ve only just put in? I’ve been here for ages. I’m far superior.

Look at the way I negotiate that little arch, moving through it fluidly without any fuss. Did you see him this afternoon? Went straight into the stone he did, flapped his tail fin about like a maniac then bundled his way through whacking the edges as he did so.

And yet you pick him, fish him out with that little net of yours, slap him down in front of you, slice him up and hand him over to whoever’s there, sea grass beside him, his flesh lying on a lovely white bed. Much to their appreciation.

Look at me. Aren’t I so much better? So much more polished. I waft my tail fin gently, expertly. I wave my pectoral fins with grace. I swim with perfectly measured poise.

Think. Think how much pleasure I could bring once I’m cut up and lying on one of those little white beds, once I’m in a mouth. Think of the cries of delight.

And yet you keep me here. Perhaps so I can be eaten by one of you who is as polished, as refined, as me. Yes. You need someone special for me. Someone who deserves me.

But how long have I been here now? And have I ever seen one? No. Not one. Ever. No. No one like me.

Give in. Pick me. Can’t you see I deserve it even if they don’t?

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4 thoughts on “In the Fishtank

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